


such stuff as dreams are made of, and nightmares, and the awkward sexy ones

by bettydice (BettyKnight)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Purple Hawke, Sexy Times, chamberpots, fluff and angst and humour with a side of smutty, non-mage hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 23,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/pseuds/bettydice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just a place to collect all my Fenris/Hawke drabbles, ranging from utter nonsense to angst</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Pee Or Not To Pee

Hawke had mulled it over and it seemed that she had only two options - either she stalked around Fenris‘ mansion in the dark until she found what she needed or she outright asked him. The second option didn‘t sound very appealing but she was running out of time. If she didn‘t get what she needed it would be too late, for both of them.

She cursed herself, why did these things always happen to her? Why could she not be dignified in everything she did for once? For example, she really would have liked to just lie here, in his embrace, lazily wrapping her body around his, whispering sweet - yet sophisticated! - endearments after an intense round of lovemaking. Sadly, this was not a viable option anymore.

"Fenris, where are your… uhm… where‘s your…. I need…“

This should not be this hard. Fenris tightened his grip on her (NOT A GOOD IDEA, FENRIS!) and his deep, intense and utterly elegant voice murmured in her ear. “What is it you need, Hawke? Tell me and I shall oblige.“ His face was so close that his lips brushed her temple when he spoke and a pleasant shiver ran through her. (NOT A GOOD IDEA, HAWKE!)

She grimaced and tried to make her request sound as dignified as she could. “So, uhm… whereabouts would one be able to find a chamberpot around here? Because… _one_ … really needs to… release oneself.“ She immediately cringed at the way she had pronounced _chamberpot_ , she couldn’t have made it more obvious that she had never called it that before if she’d tried.

Fenris didn‘t say anything, probably mortified by his sudden realisation that he had bedded someone that the nobles around here liked to deprecatingly call _Fereldan,_ with a certain sneer in their voices that she had gotten very used to. She risked a glance at his face and saw that he was quiet because this blighted knobhead was trying really hard to suppress his laughter. When he saw her furrowed brows he gave her an infuriating smirk.

"Oh, yes, indeed, there is one of these _chamberpots_ around! Shall I bring it to you, my lady?“  
  
"I‘m not gonna pee in front of you!“, she said, much louder than intended, her voice sounding almost shrill, which apparently was too much for him and he threw his head back as the laughter broke out of him.

Sometimes when she was with Fenris, there were occasions when she got lost in watching him. The way he took care of his blade after every battle. The way he would intently look at a sentence before he tried to read it out loud. The way he could never quite conceal the delight on his face when Orana brought them freshly baked almond pastries, a Tevinter specialty. And his laughter was certainly one of those things as well. Had she ever even seen him laugh this freely?

The joy she felt spread warmth throughout her body, she relaxed into his body and pressed her lips in a smile against his shoulder. Although, that smile instantly vanished as she bolted upright and remembered her distressing situation.

"Oh Maker’s balls, I REALLY need to pee!“

"The old bath, second room to the right.“  
  
She stood up and rushed out of the room, Fenris’ laughter following her all the way to the chamberpot.

When she finally got her release, it had never felt as good.


	2. Despair And Pie

When Hawke woke, the space next to her was empty. A burning bolt of panic shot through her for a second, before she noticed that his clothes were still on the floor, marking the path they had taken from the door to her bed. The panic quickly subsided as a bunch of memories from last night rushed to her mind - frantic kisses, Fenris‘ hands in her hair, both eager to rid the other of their clothes as quickly as possible. Hawke always lost this race, as Fenris had perfected his getting-Hawke-naked technique into an artform. 

It had been a few weeks since their reunion. A reunion so passionate that everyone in the Free Marches had been overcome with a sudden, scorching feeling of intense horniness - Isabela‘s words. Enough time for Hawke to get used to him sleeping next to her, or on her, or with his body wrapped around hers, but not yet long enough for her insecurities to vanish. There was this nagging worry that she‘d mess up this thing that still seemed so fragile to her. And Hawke had found that she was too good at breaking things.

The mansion was silent and dark when she went looking for him, it must still be the middle of the night. She really wondered where he was and _what in the Maker’s name he was doing_. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a distant **_CLANK_ ,** followed by muffled curses. The sounds appeared to be coming from the kitchen, strangely enough. 

This was all _highly_ suspicious. Fenris - unlike Hawke - was not the type to go looking for snacks in the middle of the night and Orana saw to it that he never went hungry, anyway. She always managed to conjure an astounding amount of food whenever Fenris was there and even though he liked to complain, he still ended up shovelling _a lot_ into his stomach and never left an empty plate. Hawke’s accusations of him being a huge, tender-hearted and inevitably big-bellied sweetheart were usually just met with a deadly stare and a stern “Hawke, stop being ridiculous.“

When she got closer to the kitchen, she began tip-toeing in the hope that she would find Fenris doing something he would be embarassed about. If that was the case, she wanted to observe him first without him noticing and then, she would mock him. 

There was not much in the world she loved more than seeing Fenris flustered. Seeing Fenris naked was also very high on that list. Oh, and the thing he did with his tongue when they… she needed to focus! No need to mess up this prime opportunity for Fenris-mocking with her intense horniness.

The scene presented to her, when she poked her head around the corner, would not have come to her in her wildest daydreams. And Hawke’s dreams tended to be _very_ creative and intricate, especially if they were of a more… carnal nature.

Fenris. In her kitchen. In nothing but his knickers. Kneeling. Desperately trying to wipe up the flour he had apparently spilled all over the floor. _Fenris, in his knickers, in her kitchen._

"Thank you Maker and also Andraste for blessing me with this view. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I am grateful."

"HAWKE?" Panic tinged his voice as Fenris rushed to stand up, his face turning a delicious shade of red.

"Well, I guess I said that out loud. Fenris, what are you doing?"

He looked ridiculous, standing there as good as naked, arms and knees covered in flour and Hawke was hit with the sudden realisation of how much she loved him. This stupid elf, why did he get to her so much?

"I was… well. You see, it is like this…" He sighed and gestured towards the table, where a large bowl throned in the middle of all kinds of ingredients, most of which Hawke didn’t even know the name of. "I was baking."

"Baking? You?" Hawke stepped into the kitchen to take a closer look at the bowl that contained some very promising looking dough. "Are you making cake? For me?"

"Actually, no." He sounded almost embarrassed. _Delicious._

"Who else would you make a… _oh_. OOOOOOOOH!” Hawke could not contain her laughter any longer and Fenris’ expression changed from embarrassed to very, very sour. She stepped closer to him and smushed his cheeks with her hands. “Oh Fenris, you are so _adorable_. Look who’s turning into the perfect big brother. Look who _cares_.”

If looks could kill, Hawke would be dead by now, her body burned on a pile of Anders’ manifesto and her ashes thrown into Meredith’s face.

Before he could make this a reality, she pressed a kiss to his lips and smiled. “I think it’s great you’re doing this and I’m sure Varania will be delighted! What are you making? Can I help you?”

Fenris kept his grimace for a moment longer, then sighed again and put his arm around her waist. “It’s this one buttery cake Orana does, she always insists that it is very easy, but the recipe makes little sense.” He grabbed a piece of paper and waved it angrily in front of her eyes. 

"Here, it says things like ‘generous amount’ and ‘a dash of’ and how much exactly is that supposed to be?" His voice grew louder with the rightful anger of someone defeated by the vague language of recipes not written with other people in mind. "Is it some kind of specific baking terminology I have yet to master? I’ve tried my best but I’m not quite happy with the result."

Hawke did not bother to look at the recipe and instead helped herself to a big spoonful of dough. 

"Andraste’s bouncing tits, this is amazing. Fenris, have you even tasted this?" She brought another spoonful to his lips and he begrudgingly let her feed him.

"It is… adequate. But I do not think it is sufficient. I fear I must ask Orana for help regardless."

"So you’re not using this?" He shook his head and Hawke grabbed the bowl and pressed it to her chest like she had just taken it off a dead dragon. "Wonderful! I shall eat this dough all by myself then!"

"Hawke… I do not know much about baking, but I do know that this is probably not a wise decision."

"Oh, _Fenris_. You’re the love of my life and the fire in my loins but you can be dense as nugshit. When have I ever made a wise decision?” Fenris groaned in defeat and pressed his forehead against hers. She leaned into his touch and grinned. “Do not worry, I am a Hawke! Our stomachs can handle _anything_!”

————————————————

When Hawke woke hours later, Fenris was lying next to her, his legs entangled with hers and his breath warm and comforting on her neck. Hawke groaned.

"Fenris."

"Mhmmm." 

“ _Fenris._ ”

"Yes, Hawke."

"I think I’m going to be sick."

She could feel his laughter more than she heard it and she groaned again. Her stomach hurt, really, _really_ hurt. She had probably never before been in this much pain and she was undoubtedly going to die and he was _laughing_ at her.

"Hawke, shall I get you a chamberpot?"  
  
"I hate you."


	3. Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for these horrible jokes, Hawke, please stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tiny bit nsfw-ish

This was not their first kiss. During those long years he has known Hawke, they have shared many kisses. Shy expressions of an attraction that neither could quite understand. The seal of an unspoken vow. Lips searching out each other, assurance that they were still alive. Tongues travelling across skin, whispering sweet promises of more.

This was the first time he kissed her for no other reason than that he loved kissing her. There was no grievance or uncertainty on his mind, just this moment that he wanted to savour for as long as he could.

* * *

It had been a long day at the Wounded Coast and when they returned to Hawke‘s mansion, they were dirty and exhausted and they were both looking forward to just rest. As Hawke had put it: “Fenris, I am weirdly attracted to you right now, even though you are covered in spider innards, but after we both get cleaned up the only thing I want inside of me is a good amount of wine and not your -“ at which point he had closed the door to the bath.

Once they were both rid of all those disgusting things that could be found inside a spider, they settled into Hawke‘s enormous and frighteningly comfortable bed. It was frightening, because he did not want to admit how quickly he was getting used to sleeping here. How fond he was of waking up next to her.

He found that he treasured these hours above anything; when they were curled up in her bed, her body warm and soft against his. No matter how “broody“ he was at the end of the day, Hawke always found a way to make him laugh. Or at least elicit a pained groan.

The way she was snuggled up to him now, he could study her peaceful expression, her cold feet had found their way between his and her hands were nestled against his chest. Silence enveloped them like a soothing blanket, the nuisances of the day forgotten. Fenris thought that this must be it. Happiness.

Naturally, Hawke chose this moment to open her mouth as wide as she could and loudly yawned in his face. At least, he assumed that it was a yawn, because it sounded like a high dragon being stabbed in the eye. And thanks to Hawke, he was quite familiar with that sound.

"Fucking stupid day.“ 

This woman… Sometimes he really wondered about these rumours that Fereldans let the Mabari raise their children.

"I couldn‘t have said it better myself and I marvel at your eloquence.“

Hawke hit him on the shoulder, though with little force behind it.  
"Shut up.“ She paused, sniffed and made a disgusted face.  
 _"Ugh_ , I think I still have spider in my hair. Fenris, do you see any spider things?“  
He indulged her and combed his fingers through her hair, pretending to look for any spider leftovers.   
"Nothing.“  
"Are you sure? On my face, maybe?“

She closed her eyes as his fingers explored her face. He tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears, then traced over her eyebrows, down her cheek, until he brushed over her lips. Hawke made a sound that could only be described as _purring_. That was when he decided that he needed to kiss her. Extensively.

At first, he just softly pressed his lips to hers, let them linger until she smiled. 

"If you want to have my smalls on the floor, you need to do a bit better than this.“ 

He sighed. “I think we‘re both too tired for that. Tonight, I just want to kiss you, if I may.“

"Oh?“ She raised an eyebrow and he gave her a playful peck on the nose, followed by another one on the lips. Then a few more short kisses, each kiss lasting a moment longer. He moved his hand until it cupped her ear and caressed it with his fingertips. 

Whenever he pulled back between kisses, Hawke would press closer to him, searching for his mouth. His other hand moved to her throat to gently stroke the sensitive skin there and a moan escaped her. He caught the sound with his mouth and started moving his lips against hers in earnest. 

As she kissed him back, everything else faded away. There was only Hawke, consuming his senses. The softness of her skin under his fingers. The air between them growing hot and damp. Her breathing filling his ears, his lungs. Her taste on his tongue as it slid against hers. It was overwhelming, but he could not get enough, it would never be enough. 

When they parted with heavy breaths, he took her bottom lip between his teeth, gave it a teasing tuck before he traced it with his tongue. Hawke made a small, appreciative sound and one of her hands found its way into his hair. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the way her fingers brushed against his skin.

Determined not to let himself get distracted, he kissed her again and lifted her leg over his so they were completely flush against each other. Hawke‘s hands slowly travelled down his back, nails lightly digging into his skin. Not quite scratching him, but there was enough pressure that he let out a groan and could not stop his hips from bucking against her, making it impossible to hide the effect she had on his body. 

She let out a laugh that turned into a moan as he made a path from her mouth to her throat with open mouthed kisses. His tongue caressed the spot where her pulse was beating rapidly, relishing in the way her breathing grew strained and her hands tightened their grip on his back. 

It was truly a wonder how she never hesitated to give herself to him. Just like in battle, when they were together like this, Hawke never held back. There was no sign of the mask she had crafted so carefully out of jokes and wit. She was completely bared to him and he wondered if she could see him the same way. He hoped she did. A thought that was as much a surprise to him as the realisation that it didn’t scare him. Not anymore.

 He continued his attentions on her throat, moving his lips across her skin with light, teasing touches, and then softly breathed over the wet marks he had left. His right hand had travelled from her hip and was now ghosting along the underside of her breast.

Apparently, that was too much for Hawke because she grabbed his arse and moved her lower body against his hardness in a _very_ deliberate way. 

He gave a low chuckle. “This was not my intent, Hawke. I promised you only kisses.“ 

"Well, intent or not, consider my smalls on the floor.“ Her words came out  breathless but her eyes were dark with lust and she moved his hand between her legs to prove that there were indeed no such smalls.

” _As I said_ , I will only use my mouth on you tonight.“ 

Fenris always kept his promises, after all, and he intended to make it very clear to Hawke, as his lips made their way down her body.


	4. But love is blind, and lovers cannot see, the unbelievable malpractices that themselves commit, you should get a lawyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optometrist AU for loquaciousquark

"Doctor, your patient is waiting for you!"

"Yes, yes, I’ll be right with him!"  
  
Hawke gave her mirror image a last exasperated look and decided that it was hopeless anyway. Her hair was a mess, her eyes had humongous shadows and she was pretty certain that she was growing a pimple in the middle of her forehead. Life just was like that. She had been looking forward to his visit all week and now her body was playing tricks with her. She should not be this excited over one of her patients coming in. It seemed like a malpractice lawsuit waiting to happen and she did not need _another_ one of those.

With a sigh she straightened her lab coat and went towards her doom.

"Fenris, how can I help you today? We weren’t expecting you for a few months!"

He just stared at her, with his pretty, pretty eyes and frowned. Even though she must have encountered MILLIONS of eyes during her time studying them, his still made her swoon. Why didn’t he say anything though? Why was he looking so confused? She didn’t look _that_ bad, did she?

"Fenris, are you alright?"

"I… no… I cannot see."

Immediately, her optometrist reflexes set in. Hawke sat down on the chair in front of him and started examining his eyes. The pupils were incredibly dilated and his eyes were very watery and red.  
  
"When did this start? Are you in pain?"  
  
"Well, I think its the eye drops Nurse Isabela gave me in the waiting room? I thought that I did not need to have them today, but she insisted. I don’t think I’m reacting particularly well to them."

"Eye drops…? Oh… oh, ah…yes, right… uhm, I’ll be right back! Just wait here, don’t move!"

* * *

” _Isabela!_ " Hawke hissed between her teeth at her assistant, who just grinned and winked at the colleague sat next to her.

"Oh no, Merrill! It seems like we were found out! You might even say, she _fundus_!”

Even though she was very angry at the moment, Hawke had to try really hard to suppress her laughter at this excellent pun. 

"This… this is not the time for jokes! Did you guys give my patient a mydriatic without my consultation? When his patient file _explicitly_ states that he occasionally has extreme reactions to them?”

"Absolutely not!" Isabela had never sounded less convincing. 

Merrill leaned closer and lowered her voice to a very conspiratorial tone. “You see, Hawke, Isabela thought you could use some more time with that patient, because you’re not really getting on with this whole flirting thing and he can’t leave if he can’t see, now, can he? And I just thought this was an _adorable_ idea!”

"You thought… I cannot believe this, you’re making my lacrimal glands really irritated. I could fire you for this! My practice could be shut down!"

"Sweetbum, don’t go all Perfect Optometrist on me. Just enjoy this gift we made you, nobody has to know! The only other patient in the waiting room was Mr. Hendyr and Merrill distracted him with questions about his wife."

Merrill giggled. “Love certainly makes some people _extremely myopic_!” That earned her a high five from Isabela and an exasperated sigh from Hawke.

” **Don’t. Ever. Do. This. Again.** ”

* * *

Hawke was back in the examination room, her cheeks flushed with irritation and her hands shaking with panic. Why did these things happen to her? What had she ever done to deserve such horrible colleagues? Fenris still couldn’t see and they only thing that would bring his eyes back to normal was _time_.

"Fenris, I’m afraid I can’t just let you go on your own in this state. Do you have somebody that could pick you up? Your…hm, your partner, maybe?" Smooth, very smooth.

He made a noise that sounded like a chuckle, if she was not mistaken. “No, there is no one. I’m single. No family, either. I have a sister but she lives in another state.”

"Oh? That is… well, then you better just wait here until your pupils have gone back to normal. It’s a sunny day outside and we’re in the middle of the city, going outside like this would be very dangerous."

"Will you keep me company?"

Hawke was really glad that he could not see how her face turned bright red. 

"I… I can do that! Right now, it’s your appointment anyway and then I’ll be on my lunch break!" 

She wouldn’t, but Mr. Hendyr would just have to deal. Maybe Isabela could convince him to reschedule. If she was going to Bad Optometrist Hell, she might as well spend more time with Fenris first.

  
After they had burned through the usual small talk, an awkward silence stretched out between them. Hawke was afraid to ask follow up questions, because she was so nervous, she felt like she forgot everything he said as soon as it left his mouth. And because she was nervous, she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Why did the phone wear glasses?"

"I don’t… excuse me?"

"Because it lost all of its contacts!"

Fenris just stared at her.

"I’m so sorry, my jokes are just getting _cornea_ and _cornea_!”

Fenris gave a polite laugh, but he looked as though he was in pain. This was bad. She needed help, immediately. Isabela would know what to do!

"Would you like some coffee, Fenris?" Good, quick thinking, Hawke! Perfect reason to leave the room!

He laughed again, this time it sounded sincere. “I’d love that, but maybe you could ask me out again at a time where I would actually be able to see your face?”

” _WHAT?_ " Hawke nearly fell from her chair and had to steady herself at the table. Unfortunately, her hand landed on the bowl with candy she kept for her little patients. Time seemed to slow down as she could do nothing but watch in horror as the bonbons went flying, straight into Fenris’ face.

* * *

                                                   **_2 Months later_**

"I’m really glad we’re actually getting around to having coffee together, Fenris. I was afraid you were going to ignore me and change doctors, after last time…"

"Change doctors? After I spent so much time looking for the best one? I could never be that _irisponsible_.”

Hawke was in love.


	5. Spinnenherz

She showed up to his place unannounced that evening, a wine bottle in her hand. Without giving an explanation for her visit, she thrust it into his hands. “Open this.” Then she went around his room and extinguished the flames of the few candles he had lit. One by one, she smothered them between her fingers, until the only light came from the fireplace. When he did not move and just stared at her, Hawke gave him what he assumed to be a smirk.

"I don’t want to see how time goes by. Let’s just measure it in wine bottles."

Something was very wrong.

* * *

**The First Bottle**

They were sitting on the furs laid out in front of the fireplace and Hawke gulped down the wine as if her life depended on it. She did not bother with the goblets he had put down between them. Old, heavy things that he had found stored away in a chest somewhere. They were too decorated, too _complicated_ for his taste, but Hawke usually found it hilarious to drink from them.   
She liked to put on a fake accent and say things like “A toast, my dear friend, to all these riches that our ancestors have stolen from other people with ridiculously bad taste. Another toast to all the poor peasants that are labouring their behinds off to ensure that we may pour this swill down our gullets!”

Tonight, she did not say a word.

"Hawke, are you… alright?" His voice sounded awkward to him, he was not good at comforting people. He had never learned how. Maybe he did once, in another life.

She just shook her head and kept staring into the fire, taking another swig of wine. 

His hands were restless, wanting to do something. Hold her, maybe. But ever since _that night_ , he had not dared to touch her again like this. He had no right. Fenris furrowed his brows, he was at a loss. The words that always came so easily to Hawke all died on his tongue. A graveyard of clumsy expressions of worry and reassurance. 

In absence of a better idea, he got up and went looking for another wine bottle.

* * *

**The Second Bottle**

Halfway through the next bottle, Hawke started talking.

"I’m never quite sure what day of the month it is. And I really have no idea when exactly… it happened… but I’m pretty certain this week is… it must’ve been a whole year now."

"Your mother." Understanding rushed over him in a cold wave. Hawke lay down and put her hands over her eyes, her mouth pressed together in a thin line.

"Why am I still in this shithole of a city?"

Fenris had no answer to that, having often wondered the same thing himself. While he knew that one of the reasons was lying next to him right now, he would not want to assume that it was the same for her.

As he watched her, the flickering light of the fire distorted her face into a haunting grimace. The wine that stained her lips had turned the colour of dried blood. The shadows of the room seemed to grow, filling the space behind them and inching ever closer, clawing at them with their phantom hands. Fenris shuddered and stoked the fire to dispel them.

"It has taken everything from me. Everyone. There’s nobody left."

"You’re _not_ alone, Hawke.” She looked up as she heard the indignation in his voice. The words hung between them, heavy with meaning and he felt like his face must show her everything he thought, everything he never said. He couldn’t…

"You still have Gamlen, after all." Instead of hurling the bottle into his face, as he should deserve for this, she gave a bitter laugh and sat up again.

"Ah yes, my loving uncle, how could I forget!" She raised the bottle at him in a mocking toast and took another swig. "To Gamlen! If it weren’t for him, I would not only be the last of the Hawke’s, I would also be the last of the Amell’s. And _that_ would just be too much pressure for a single person.” 

"To Gamlen." He took the bottle from her and drank the remaining wine. It wasn’t much.

"Sometimes I envy you, you know." Her voice was hard to hear over the crackle of the fire, so he leaned closer, not sure if he heard her correctly. "You don’t remember your family. You don’t have to carry around their loss with you, every step you take." She glanced at him and sighed. "Or maybe you do. Maybe your pain is even worse, not knowing what you mourn."

Another question he had no answer for.

* * *

**The Last Bottle**

Hawke was crying. He had only seen her cry once before. He remembered that day well.

_The Arishok lay dead at her feet and her daggers clattered to the ground, disturbing the awed silence of the spectators. Hawke looked around, but hers was not the face of a victor. There was no pride, no relief, no joy. She was furious._

_Her angry tears mixed with the sweat and the blood on her face and for a short moment, her mask vanished and she unleashed the storm inside of her. Hawke seemed to grow before his eyes, becoming larger than life. She was both beautiful and terrifying.  Later, they would call her the Champion and he knew that it was because of this moment. If she wanted to, she could break this city apart._

_Compared to her, he was a speck of dust. A fugitive with nothing to his name, not even a memory. Who was he to want her, to love her, while she had all of Kirkwall tearing at her skin._

_And he was, too._

_Another worry for her to take care of, another chain across her heart.  
_

_And then he didn’t care anymore, as she sank to her knees, blood spilling from the wound in her stomach. All he could think was “Don’t leave me. Don’t die.”_

That day, her tears had been silent. Escaping her eyes barely noticed. This time, her tears would not stop, streaming down her face, her neck, dripping on her shirt. Violent sobs tore through her body, her nose was running and she made heart-wrenching noises as she cried and cried. He couldn’t bear it. 

Fenris cautiously reached for her hands that were digging into her shirt above her heart and tried to loosen them. She startled at his touch and grabbed his hand, pressed it to her chest.

"There are spiders, Fenris…"

He looked around in confusion, but could not see any.

"In my heart. There are spiders in my heart." Her grip on his hand tightened, almost painfully so and he could see her knuckles turn white. "They’re in my heart, eating me raw, trying to get out. And their webs… I can’t breathe. Can’t breathe."

They way she crushed his hand into her breast, it must surely hurt her by now, but he did not dare move it.

"Hawke, is there anything I can do. _Tell me._ " He needed to do something, _anything_ to help her.

"Make them go away". A whisper, nothing more. "My heart, hold it."

His hand on her chest, her eyes pleading…

"Hawke, no. I won’t."

"Please, please do this for me!" Her voice grew louder, full of desperation and he could hardly meet her eyes, fearing the naked pain in them. 

"I could kill you! This is madness! You’re drunk! _I’m_ drunk!”

Her tears hadn’t stopped and he could feel them on his skin now.

"It’s too much. I can’t go on like this!" She drew in a shuddering breath, her body shaking under his fingers. "I can’t breathe. Fenris, _please_ … I can’t… it hurts too much.”  
Her heart was beating rapidly and his own was even worse, almost painful in his chest. Hawke just looked at him and nodded.

"Trust me."

He couldn’t say why he did it. Her tears and the wine seemed to rush to his head, clouding his mind until he wasn’t thinking anymore.

Then he became a ghost, to chase hers away.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, her heart beating in his hand, the most fragile thing he’d ever held. His eyes never left hers, always searching for a sign that he went too far, that he hurt her too much. Hawke’s breathing was strained, as was his own, but through the pain, she looked relieved. As if the burden she had carried all day, _all year_ , had finally fallen off.

After what felt like hours, she took a deep breath and smiled. Very carefully, he drew back his hand and his markings flickered out.

"Thank you."

Hawke lay down on the floor and pulled him with her, until her head was nestled against his chest and his arms around her body. Her breathing had calmed down but the wetness seeping through his shirt told him that she was still crying. He pulled her closer and pressed his lips to her temple.

They stayed like this until the spiders were gone.


	6. Untitled

"I’m proud of you!"

Rosalind grinned at her mother, her cheeks glowing red under a light dusting of flour.   
  
"It might not be the prettiest cake this kitchen has ever seen, but it definitely has a very cake-like shape and if you ignore the black crust around the edges, the colour looks almost appealing!" Malcom threw his arm around his eldest, whose grin turned into an annoyed grimace.  
  
"You don’t have to eat it, Pa!" Rosalind looked towards her mother, expecting some words of comfort but Leandra was too busy hiding her laughter behind her hand. "Oh, not you too, mum! Well, I’ll just give it to Carver then, he’ll eat anything!"   
  
She grabbed the plate with the cake and stormed out of the kitchen towards the twins’ room. She was sure that _other_ parents were not making fun of _their_ daughter’s first attempts at baking. Why was it that her parents, for all the times they loved to argue, always seemed to get along perfectly fine when it came to annoying Rosalind? Not. Fair.

"Go on! Stuff your face! But if you say one bad word about it afterwards, I will kick you in the arse!" With those words, she put the cake down with force in front of Carver, who just stared at her for a bit in wonder, before breaking a piece off the cake and slowly starting to devour it.  
  
In the end, he ate the whole cake under Rosalind’s watchful eyes, got terribly sick afterwards and her mother did not encourage her to have any more baking adventures.  
Though Carver did not say anything bad about the cake after all, which counted as a success as far as Rosalind was concerned.

* * *

 

_"I’m proud of you. Love, Mother."_

Hawke did not know when this was written. What had prompted her mother to write this. With shaky fingers she tried to smooth the scrap of paper, wondering how long it had lain here undiscovered. She followed the letters with a fingertip, over and over, and tried to imagine her mother writing them. Maybe Leandra had had a small smile on her face, knowing that Hawke would be stunned by this kind of message. It could have been a joke, after one of the several times Hawke had done something to irritate her mother. Or maybe… maybe that day Leandra had woken up with a weird feeling in her chest, like something terrible was about to happen to Hawke, because Hawke always got herself in danger. So she had left a quick note, just in case, and had felt better afterwards, having written these words down before it was too late. Then she might have been able to appreciate the morning sun warming the mansion and the unusual sight of white lillies on the table.

Hawke shut her eyes and violently shook her head, trying to put a stop to her thoughts.   
  
_Don’t go there, Hawke. No good will come of it._   
  
She felt her heart beating faster as her breathing became shallow and her hands gripped the table until she could feel the edge of it digging into her palms. In her head, she slowly counted to ten, trying to steady her breathing. When she got to ten, she decided to continue to count to fifty. When she reached twenty-seven, she felt a warm hand covering her own and a muscled arm pressing against hers. She had not heard him come in, and after a slight shock at the sudden touch, she leaned against him while she continued counting. At thirty-four, he started to rub slow circles on her skin with his thumb. Fifty. She opened her eyes and found that Fenris was staring at Leandra’s note.   
  
"It’s just like mother to leave stuff like this lying around for me to find when I least expect it. Your children should never be at ease, they should _always_ anticipate the unexpected.” The words came out rather shaky, but she did not mind terribly much. At least _some_ words came out. Fenris gave her one of his almost-smiles and after squeezing her hand, he stepped away and strode towards the bookshelf.   
  
 ”I am ready to begin our lesson, if you are…” His back was turned towards her, giving her the space to wipe the tears from her face and take a deep breath before standing next to him.  
  
"I am."


	7. The Choices We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set after "Here Lies The Abyss"

A thousand words unsaid. They will wait.

Skin warming under his hands. A kiss placed on each new scar. Forgiveness for her leaving him. Her hurting without him by her side. 

Her sighs undulate across his skin. Her pleas wrap around him, making a cocoon of her remorse.  
  
A confession.

_I would have stayed behind._  
  
These things he cannot hear.

He swallows her words with his mouth, buries them inside. He has no words to return to her, instead, his tongue caresses hers with his hurt. He leaves his anger on her breasts, his fear between her legs.  
  
She comes apart, her thighs clenching around his head, her hands gripping his hair.  
  
 _I'm sorry._  
  
His sweat mingles with her tears. Their hands clasped together. He breathes out, she breathes in. His hair entwined with hers, both longer now.   
  
 _Don't leave me._  
  
He moves inside her, faster, always faster until his demons fade away, one by one. At last, he can meet her eyes.

For a fleeting moment, reunited.  
  
 _I'm yours._  
  
After, there is a question in her eyes, a hint of dread. He pulls her close, inhales her scent, wipes away her tears.  
 __  
"I remain at your side."  
  
He will always make that choice. She will always give it to him.


	8. Drabble Meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some drabble prompts I answered on tumblr

**Enamor Me**

 

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Excellent! Just sit back an enjoy! I put a lot of work into this.”

Fenris did not seem quite convinced, but soon he’d see. And then he would be amazed.

“Are you a mage? Because you just magicked my breath away!”

Fenris groaned, and not in the good way. “I was _there_ when the Launcet guy used it.“

“I know! I thought it was really good! Don’t worry, just warming up.” Shit, that’d been her best one.

“So, Fenris, I heard you like fancy silverware? That’s wonderful, I really like to spoon!”

His face showed no emotion. Probably overcome with desire and didn’t want to show it.

“I’m not drunk, just drunk on your beauty!” Technically, that didn’t make sense, but maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Fenris made a noise that could be an indication that he needed to puke or, more likely, that he was getting aroused.

“Did you bathe in elfroot? Because I can…feel…shit. How did it go again?” She’d have to consult with Isabela before she tried her sexy phrases the next time.

Time for her emergency plan, she was losing his interest. With swift hands she took off her clothes until stood completely naked in front of him.

_That_ got his attention.

 

* * *

 

**Quiet Me**

 

When he wakes from nightmares, she knows not to startle him and wait for him to touch her first.

When she stands in front of her mother’s empty room, he holds her hand until she can turn away.

When he tosses and turns, the pain in his markings keeping him awake, she grabs the oil she keeps next to the bed and rubs the soothing ointment into his skin.

When she stares at the letters on her desk, all asking her to be the Champion, he tells the dog to sit next to her and brings her a cup of tea.

When he smashes the book closed, frustration colouring his face, she kisses his frown, his anger until they disappear and are replaced by laughter.

When she cries in the middle of the night, mourning everything she’s lost and fearing what else will go, he holds her close, catches her tears with his love.

When Kirkwall stands in flames, the world crumbling around them, Hawke’s movements are swift, her blades are steady, Fenris’ sword reassuring at her back.

Whatever comes next, it will be dealt with.

 

* * *

 

**Get Me**

 

“Hawke, don’t do it.” His voice was urgent in her ear but she just waved her hand at him.

“Don’t worry, sweetbum. I’ve got _everything_ under control.”  
  
“This is madness, she’ll _murder_ you.“

“Shush, I know what I’m doing.”

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. Why couldn’t he trust her? They didn’t call her _the Champion of Kirkwall_ for nothing. It was time to make her move. Before she could do so he stopped her with a firm hand on her arm, slightly raising from his chair.

“Isabela, can you stand up for a second?”

Her opponent winked and gave a coy smile. “Why, want to see my body in all its glory? Why don’t we leave that for later.” Another wink, this time directed at Hawke. “Winner gets to be in the middle.”

“No, just stand up, would you.” Fenris sat back again, sounding almost smug. “Or maybe Aveline could lean over a bit and check that scarf in your lap. Just in case you lost any cards in there, that would be a pity, wouldn’t it.”

There was a short, _very_ tense moment, where Isabela narrowed her eyes at Fenris, before she started laughing and got up, scarf and a handful of cards flattering to the ground.

“You’re no fun, now that you guys are back together again!” She took her drink and sauntered over to the corner where a pretty young guardswoman greeted her with a smile.

Hawke threw her hands around Fenris’ neck and planted a wet kiss on his lips before he could give her another lecture on the importance of not betting everything you’ve got, especially not things you don’t actually own.

“My hero!”

 

* * *

 

 

**Drink Me**

 

It had been a while since they’d shared a bottle like this. Just the two of them, sitting in the dark in his mansion. It was too hot for fire or even candles.

Hawke’s pupils were dark and wide as she slid one finger along the wine bottle between them. Suddenly, he was very aware of his sweaty shirt sticking to his skin. His hair that she had bound together earlier with one of her leather bands and which must look ridiculous. The wine staining his lips. 

“Fenris.” Hawke crawled closer, her movements still smooth despite her drunken state. “Fenrissssssssssss.” Her speech not quite as smooth.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow and chuckled as she hit the bottle with her hand and it fell to the ground with a clank and started rolling back and forth.

“Oh shitty bollocks, now I’ve ruined the mood.” Hawke laid down on her stomach and buried her face in her arms. 

“The mood for what exactly.”

“I wanted to seduce you”, came the muffled reply. Then she raised her head a bit and she gave him her best smirk. “Did it work?”

Fenris hid his laughter behind a cough. “Absolutely. Consider me wholly seduced.”

“Oh.” Her smirk turned into a sheepish smile. “Good. Because _you_ always do. Seduce me, that is.“

She was asleep before he could think of a reply.

 


	9. More drabbles

**Paint Me**

 

“Is that supposed to be me?”  
  
“Of course it is, those are your markings and your little elven ears. And your… very impressive cock.” Hawke winked at Isabela. “How did you know, should I be worried?”

“Hawke…” Fenris opened his mouth to protest but then changed his mind. “Your breasts are much smaller than in this drawing.”

Both Isabela and Hawke drew in a loud breath and someone elbowed him in the ribs.

“How. Dare. You. My tits are fantastic and enormous - from a certain viewpoint - and you love them.“

He put his arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I was just criticising Isabela’s art. Or whatever this is. Your breasts are indeed lovely.”

“Yes, it is art and it is my gift to you. There are several pages, actually and I thought you could use them as inspiration. If you would look at page seven, for example, then you will see what I like to call the _Flying Frenzy_.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and took a closer look at the page in question.

“Is that us on… _Hawke’s chandelier_? How would we even…”

“Do you have first hand experience, Isabela, because I always thought that there were some weird noises coming from the other room during the last dinner party and you and Merrill were missing… Actually, I am intrigued. Do you have to let it down first, or…”

Fenris took her hand and pulled her away from those drawings. Time to leave.

“Don’t worry, Hawke, I’ll send them to you!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Value Me**

 

Fenris had learned many ways to apologise.

There were the words.

 _I’m sorry, Master._  
_I’m not worthy of your forgiveness._  
 _I was wrong._  
 _I deserve punishment._  
 _Please, punish me._

There were the gestures.

 _He stood next to his Master, shoulders hunched, head bowed._  
_He was on his knees, head and hands pressed to the ground._  
 _He was on his knees, staring up at his Master, tears streaming from his eyes._  
 _Pleading hands, bleeding back, tears and screams._  
 _Whatever worked, whatever it was his Master wanted._

But no matter how much he wanted to run to Hawke, throw himself at her feet and plead, he would not.  
_  
I am not a slave._

He stared at the empty paper in front of him, mocking him with its smooth surface. Danarius had erased all words in him back then, but there was no smoothness to Fenris. He had been torn up, put together wrong and then crumpled up and thrown away.

_I’m sorry, Hawke._

The words he knew were not enough to make her understand. What she meant to him, why he fled.

And so he stayed silent.

 

* * *

 

 

**Love Me**

 

“This is it!” Hawke dropped her pack to the ground and grinned proudly at Fenris. He did not reciprocate the grin.

“ _This_ is it? This is the place you said was - and I quote - _so magical you will want to shove me into the arms of a templar_?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“This is the forsaken Wounded Coast, Hawke. This place is miserable, crawling with undead corpses and spiders and we go here once a week! And there is the ocean right there, full of _fish_!”

“Exactly, we can catch them and eat them, it will be grand!” Fenris looked as though he was about to go all lyrium ghost on her, so she put up her hands in a calming gesture. “Just kidding, my little crumpet, there will be no fish on the menue! But there is a beautiful little cave right there, I used to go there with Bethany and it is just lovely and _nobody_ will disturb us.”

He still seemed somewhat sceptical but at least he did not look as though he was considering actually catching a fish just so he could throw it at her.

She held out her hand - which he took, always a good sign - and led him to the cave.  
  
“A vacation! It will be _magical_!”

* * *

She always loved to see Fenris’ laugh, but she appreciated it a little less when he was laughing _at her._ Hawke crossed her arms and used her best pouty face.  
  
“I really don’t understand what’s so funny.”

“You’re the one who wanted to spend some time _here_ of all places and now you tell me you won’t even go into the water? Are you _afraid_?“

“Of course not. I’m just… it’s just that… I’ve never swum in the ocean. That is fucking terrifying, Fenris. It doesn’t _end_!“

Instead of understanding and love and assurance, Fenris showered her with… water. He had the audacity to splash water in her face. Hawke was about to tell him that the _special dessert_ she had planned was off the table, when she noticed the expression on his face. He stood on the beach, the waves playing around his legs and he looked _carefree_. Which is why she came here in the first place.

She could let _him_ tease _her_ for once.

* * *

They were snuggled together underneath a blanket, Fenris sitting behind her and his strong arms embracing her and Hawke felt llike she should be _purring_. Her head was tucked under his chin and whenever he spoke, she could feel his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

“So, do you still think it was a bad idea to come here?”  
  
“You know how much I detest to admit it, but your idea was not that bad.”

“So I was right?”

Fenris avoided an outright answer and instead opted for leaning down and kissing her. She would count that as a ‘yes’. When they parted, she smiled at him.

“I’m happy. Here, with you.”

Another kiss, this time longer and deeper.  
  
“I am, too.”

 

 


	10. Value Me (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut and hilarity

”Oh Maker, I love your cock!” Hawke laid back on the pillows, feeling incredibly exhausted and very satisfied.

”Is that a compliment to the Maker or to me?”

Fenris still sounded out of breath when he laid down next to her, so she could roll over and put her head on his chest and start tracing the markings on his torso with a lazy finger. She had found that they were less sensitive after certain _bedroom activities_ and he seemed to like it. At least he never complained when she did it, and with Fenris, that usually amounted to the same thing.

”It was a compliment to your cock, because it made me feel really good.”

”I will make sure to pass it along then.”

They stayed like that for a while, too exhausted to talk but not yet tired enough to go to sleep. Hawke had stopped making random patterns with her finger and was now writing dirty words on Fenris’ stomach and making bets with herself whether he would notice. When he suddenly started chuckling, she pouted and began counting the money she owed herself after this.

”You know that all your ‘sexy compliments’, as you like to call them, are not truly sexy, right?”

“What? That’s ridiculous, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

”If you blurt it out like that, it just makes me laugh!”

“Oh and when did you become the expert on dirty talk. And no, your Tevinter phrases don’t count!”

Suddenly, Hawke found herself trapped underneath Fenris’ body and he was looking at her with an infuriating smirk.

”Is that a challenge?”

* * *

“I love the way your tongue feels against mine.”

His breath was hot on her skin, one of his hands slowly sliding from her throat down to her breast and his voice… his voice was everywhere. Fenris took her earlobe between his teeth and gave it a playful tug. Hawke couldn’t help giggling but that soon turned into a low moan when his fingers closed around her nipple.

“There is no sound I adore more than the sounds you make when I fuck you.“

Hawke felt a shiver go through her body, heat rising in her belly, between her legs. He could probably make her come with his voice alone. His lips replaced his fingers at her breast and his hand caressed her hip.  His tongue was teasing her nipple, his hand warm against her skin and she could feel him growing hard against her leg. She needed _more_.

“The way you arch into my body, so impatient. It makes me want to keep teasing you for hours, always keeping you on the edge until you beg for me to make you come.“

“Fenris, please. _I need you_.“ She didn’t care how needy she sounded, she wanted him. _Now_.

He put his head on her chest between her breasts and his body shook in silent laughter. When he looked up at her, his brows were furrowed in an exaggerated frown.

“Are you really giving up this easily? I’m disappointed, Hawke.”

“ _Fenris!_ ” She was not whining, she was _pleading_. A very important difference.

His lips found hers and she eagerly kissed him back, let him feel how desperate she was for him. In an attempt to get him where she wanted him, she put her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. She could feel his cock _right there_ , if she just moved her hips a little bit…

“Not yet, Hawke.”

This time, she actually let out a whine. “Just fuck me, Fenris!”

“First, I want to hear the sound you make when I…”

She gasped when two of his fingers entered her, sliding in and out, making her hips buck and her breath come out loud and hard. When his thumb found her clit, it was almost enough to make her come apart, still sensitive from earlier. Through a haze of lust and pleasure, she thought she heard him praising her wetness, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but his fingers and the things they did to her.

“Please. _Fenris_. I … ah, _please_!“

Finally, _finally_ , his hand closed around her breast again, his mouth was hot on hers and his cock entered her in one swift motion.

They didn’t last long, Fenris set a rapid pace and it only took a few thrust for her orgasm to overwhelm her. She was coming apart around him, pleasure surging through her body and he followed her shortly after.

* * *

They were lying together under the blankets, his body against her back, his arms around her. Hawke let out a happy sigh.

“So you agree that I’m better at ‘sexy compliments’.” He sounded so very, very smug, the bastard.

“I did not say that.”

“I think your _reaction_ spoke for itself.“

“Well, _fine_. It was pretty good. _You’re_ pretty good.“

She could feel his stupid grin against her cheek and resisted the urge to kick him in the shin.

“Fenris?”

“Mhmm.”

“I love your cock.”


	11. Puppy Love (Star Wars AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry

Dog looked wistfully into the clear night sky. He missed the binary sunset of Tatooine. Now that he had finally made it off the planet, all he wanted to do was go back once more. Run through the sand until his paws were burned and scratched, the hot air hurting his sensitive nose. But what was once his life would never be again. He was not simple Dog Skywalker anymore, he was a _Jedi_ now.

“Dog, are you okay?”

Prince Fenris had joined him on the secluded balcony, away from the Ewok festivities. Fenris’ hair was pinned up in a very elaborate style as always and the stones hidden away in his strands glittered like starlight as he moved. Dog’s heart was full of emotion and he nuzzled his nose against Fenris’ hand.

“Why aren’t you at the celebration?”

“ *sad bark* “

“You have to go? Where?”

“ *sad but determined bark* “

“Darth Justice? And you think he’s coming for you? No, Dog, I won’t allow it!”

“ *empathetic whine* “

Fenris put a hand over his mouth as the realisation sunk in. He kneeled down and looked into Dog’s eyes, his voice strong despite the overwhelming news he had just heard.

“You’re my brother. Somehow I’ve always felt it. And you have to do this? On your own?”

Dog barked in a way that he hoped would reassure his brother and then closed his eyes as Fenris scratched him lovingly behind his ears. He had to try to save their father. There was still good in Darth Justice, he could feel it in the Force.

* * *

Fenris watched Dog leave, head held high but his fear showed in the tail hanging between his legs. He just hoped he would ever see him again… his _brother_.

“What’s going on here?”

Hawke Solo, smuggler extraordinaire and also a very scruffy looking nug-breader rushed onto the balcony, probably upset about being left out of a conversation. As Fenris turned around, seeing the familiar stupid expression of confusion on her face and the shirt that was unbuttoned a few buttons too much to be decent, his eyes filled with tears and he put his arms around Hawke.

“Hold me.”


	12. Weight Of The World

Every night she scrubbed her hands until they hurt. Unlike her friends who fought with swords and daggers, she did not usually return from a mission covered in blood. Though that did happen with increasing frequency. Or sometimes, spider innards.

And yet, every wound she caused, every flame that burst from her fingers and scorched her enemies, every death she was responsible for… they stained her. The magic flowing through her was deadly even at it’s stillest.

_“Close your eyes.”_

_She stroked his face and pressed her lips to his forehead, tears spilling from her eyes as she called forth her magic. It dribbled down her arms, cool and almost soothing, slowly at first, sensing her hesitation. She was no healer, but she’d learned enough to know that this would work. Hawke poured more and more magic into him, let it curl around his pain until it was gone, worked it deep into his mind until his only thoughts were those of his family. This was the only way she could show him her love, what she’d failed to do before._

_When Carver took his last breath, she hoped he felt no fear of the unknown, no sadness about leaving. She truly hoped that he was going home._

The smoothness of her hands belied the cruel deeds they carried out.Sometimes she imagined waking up with her hands scarred and wrinkled, ugly and bony. What different was she from any other abomination.

Hawke knew that Fenris felt her magic even if she didn’t use it. That it hurt him sometimes, the echo of past terrors enough to make him back away from her. These were things neither of them could change and she didn’t know if it would ever be different.

What she knew was that every night she scrubbed her hands until they hurt. And every night he took her hands in his and put them to his lips. It did not heal her scars and more often than not she would wake up to find him sleeping in another room. But for now, it was enough. _  
_


	13. Sunlight

**Sunlight**

Once in a while, Hawke decided to flee life at the Hightown estate and her _Champion of Kirkwall_ obligations and instead holed up with Fenris in his mansion. Complaining about it was useless, yet he still did it to keep up appearances. It’s not that he minded her being around - on the contrary, he rather enjoyed it - but her reassurring “you won’t even notice I’m here” meant as little as Isabela’s “I absolutely won’t tell Hawke that you got drunk with Donnic at the Hanged Man tonight and you started singing sappy ballads about Aveline and Hawke”.

Currently, she was collecting cushions and blankets and arranged them on one of the balconies that the mansion was equipped with. Fenris didn’t think he’d ever stepped foot on one - what was even the point of them? It seemed that Hawke was intent on showing him just that when she pushed him outside and made him sit down between a ridiculous amount of cushions. Where did she even find them? Half of them probably mouldy, but that had never stopped Hawke before. 

“Tadaa!”

Hawke spread her arms and looked immensely proud of herself. Fenris wasn’t quite sure _what_ she was proud of but he decided to indulge her, he had an inkling of where this all was going.

“Uhm… you have arranged these cushions in a very pleasing way. I have never seen such a formidable nest of cosiness.“

“I know, it’s perfect! Why have we never done this before?”

Hawke grinned widely and laid down next to him, immediately closing her eyes. She stretched a bit until she was in a comfortable position, the sunlight like a blanket over her skin. She did not open her eyes again, nor did she say anything. _  
_

_Huh._ It’s not that Fenris had _expected_ something of a… raunchier nature, but it usually tended to be a natural development when they found themselves alone on a soft surface. Or any surface. Or in general. It happened a lot. So really, no one could fault him for assuming that Hawke had planned for them to engage in some carnal activities. Asking her why she’d arranged all this would almost certainly open him up for ridicule, so he laid down as well, his arms and legs slightly touching hers and closed his eyes.

It was strange at first. He was lying down, in the middle of the day, with no intention to go to sleep. His muscles were tensed in the effort not to move because it seemed like _not moving_ was an integral part of this ‘activity’. His eyelids were twitching - he kept them closed, but _why_? He was about to give up and just ask Hawke what the bloody point of this all was when he suddenly felt _warm_.

The sunlight that covered him head-to-toe had seeped through his skin, had worked its way into his muscles, softening them, had spread all the way to his bones. He let out a little sigh as he felt his entire body unwind. Everything was quiet, except for Hawke’s calm breathing next to him and the sound of a gentle breeze now and then. His eyes were closed, yet it was not the pressing darkness that awaited him at night but a warm orange that enveloped him.

Fenris revelled in the warmth for a while, imagining his muscles and bones turning into mush under the sun. He had almost forgotten that Hawke was lying next to him when a peculiar humming sound disturbed the silence. At first, he decided to ignore it, but it was a tune that felt oddly familiar. _Dangerously_ familiar. 

“Hawke…”

He knew it was pointless, yet he still tried to fill his voice with a certain amount of threat.

“Oh, you know this song as well? It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it.”

Her voice was deceptively cheerful.

“ _Hawke_.“

“I’m a bit rusty on the words though, can you help me out? _O maiden fair, I adore thee hair, soft and robust, when I grab it in lust_ … and then?”

“I hate you.”

“Ah, right! _O maiden bold, I might seem cold, but my luv for thee, stings like a bee_. Who knew you were such a poet!”

Before he could protest any further and insist that these were absolutely not the lyrics that he had used, Isabela must have misheard them and his words had definitely been much more refined than that, she had draped her arm and leg over his body and her lips were pressing against his jaw.

The sun warm on his face and Hawke’s body curled around him, he found himself developing a surprising fondness for balconies. Fenris let his fingers run through Hawke’s hair and had to agree with his drunk self, it was indeed soft and robust.


	14. Much A-dough about Muffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking Contest AU, because I can

The clock said it would take five more minutes. Five more minutes of nervous sweating, anxious lip-biting and a very elevated heart rate. Five more minutes until the moment of truth.

Wait… _five_ minutes? That didn’t seem right. Hawke squatted down in front of the oven, wiping her sweaty hands on her apron. (Her siblings had given it to her when she’d graduated from culinary school. It was pink and said _They see me rollin’ - they hatin’_ with a picture of a rolling pin underneath. It was lovely.) The sponge cake she was going to use for her layers looked fine, but did it look _too_ fine? Would five more minutes be too much? These were the kind of life-or-death decisions Hawke had trouble making under stress.

Where did Varric even get the absurd idea that she should be the one to represent _Once Upon A Pie_ in this contest? Clearly, she was not made for it. She just wanted to be back in her own kitchen, with her favourite songs playing in the background and to be _alone_.

Hawke shot a vicious glare over her shoulder at the only other person in the room - the guy who entered the contest for _Slave to the Cake_. He was crouching in front of his oven as well, trousers black, shirt black, apron black, hair black. All black like the pit of despair growing in Hawke’s stomach, except for his white tattoos. He was stupidly hot but she really couldn’t focus on that right now.

Two more minutes to go and she decided _fuck it_ and took out the cake. It smelled and looked amazing! Hawke let out a sigh of relief and shut the oven door with her foot. Her movement might have been a bit too enthusiastic  - she lost her balance and… oh no… **OH NO**! The cake landed on the floor.

For a moment, Hawke stood frozen on the spot, staring at the cake. The cake on the floor. Her precious cake. That she wanted to turn into a three-layered chocolate-raspberry wonder. Slowly, she sank down on her knees, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of her precious creation broken and useless. Her hands hovered over the pieces, not sure if attempting to salvage it was even worth it.

“Did you just throw your cake on the floor?”

Hawke looked up and met the confused stare of Cake Slave Guy. His voice was deep, dark and delicious, making her think of bitter chocolate with a hint of orange. A very good voice but not good enough to let her ignore his infuriating question.

“Yes, I threw it on the ground. To get that rare dust flavour. Now I’ll step on it a few times and then scoop it up and _THROW IT IN YOUR FACE_!”

Hawke could feel her face flush with anger and embarrassment, she really did not need any witnesses to the biggest failure of her career. Tomorrow, when everybody would be presenting their perfect cake to the judges, she’d be there with a pile of crumbs and bring shame and dishonour to Varric’s business. Imagining the pitiful stares of the other contestants was what made her tears start rolling down her face and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to embarrass herself even more.

She heard footsteps approaching and then Stupid Questions Guy crouched down next to her, investigating the mess on the floor, scepticism etched into his face.

“Maybe if you… you could… if we… can you make another?”

“I don’t have the time! This is already my second try, the first one collapsed! It’s almost midnight, we have to present the cakes at ten in the morning! I have the filling in the fridge but I need to assemble everything and do the chocolate glaze and then let that set for a while. And the decorations!”

More tears streamed down her face and she didn’t even try to hide them anymore. _What was the point_. She was an utter flop and soon everyone would know.

“I’m almost done with my cake.”

She was very tempted to smother him in the chocolatey shambles of her career.

“I’m so _happy_ for you! Then why don’t you go take care of that while I go get some cardboard and pretend it’s cake and put some frosting on it **BECAUSE I MIGHT AS WELL**.”

“I meant… I could help you.”

He was being _nice_. He had a possibly career-changing competition tomorrow and he was offering to _help_ her. Hawke started sobbing - ugly, noisy sobs - and stared at him as if he’d just offered to pay off all her debts from cooking school and also told her that she was a witch and could go to Hogwarts immediately.

“I do-hon’t… oh-h-h maker… I… yes… I can’t…hh…”

He tilted his head a little to look in her eyes and gave her a hint of a smile.

“I’m Fenris, by the way.”

* * *

 

She insisted on finishing his cake first and helped him decorate - something she turned out to be better at than him to her satisfaction. (“That’s too much!” - “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s still so much free space!” - “Put down the icing bag and step away from the cake, Hawke!” - “Alriiiiight, if you want your cake to be boring…” - “Not boring, precise and elegant.”)

It was 1 a.m. when they were done with his cake and put it in the freezer with the other cakes for the competition. All safely stored and locked in their own compartments.

It was 4:45 a.m. when Hawke carefully placed the candied rose in the middle of the cake and then dropped her hands to admire their work. She didn’t know how they’d done it, but it looked just like she’d imagined it. The large amount of coffee they’d ingested had probably helped.

“We did it!” She beamed at Fenris, chocolate on her cheek from when she’d absentmindedly wiped her fingers and flour all over her clothes. “This was practically a _cakewalk_!”

Fenris groaned and leaned against the counter, rubbing his face as if he could banish his exhaustion that way.

“Thank you so much… I don’t know how I can ever repay you. Why did you even help me? Technically, you should’ve been happy that I failed.”

He frowned at her and shook his head. “You’re absolutely correct, I should’ve thought this over more. I don’t know what came over me!”

There was a slight twitch to his lips that told her that he was joking with her and Hawke gave an indignified snort. Because she hadn’t embarrassed herself enough for one night. And then… maybe she wanted to distract him, maybe it was one way to express her gratitude, maybe it was the coffee making her all jittery - suddenly she found herself leaning against him and _kissing_ him.

When she realised what she was doing she pulled back, horrified at her stupidity. They stared at each other for a moment - Hawke wishing that she had accidentally decorated her cake with a pattern that summoned a demon who would swallow her on the spot - and then Fenris took her face in his hands and kissed her again. His lips were as delicious as his voice and Hawke practically melted into the kiss like chocolate over hot water. A tiny voice was telling her that there was something else she should do but it was hard to concentrate as his tongue brushed against hers.

“MY CAKE!” She pushed him away and pressed her hands against her burning cheeks. She needed to put her cake in the fridge! “I’ll be right back! Don’t move!”

He _didn’t_ move and he was still there when she’d safely stored her cake. And he was still eager to kiss her, for reasons unknown. In a few hours, they’d both be judged and scrutinized but for now, she’d wrap herself around him like a marzipan cover and enjoy kissing him. That his hands were sliding down to grab her butt - well, that was just the icing on the cake.


	15. Could be worse

“Could be worse, don’t be so dramatic, Fenris.”

“Could be…? _How_ could this be worse? We’re trapped in a cave full of spiders and we’re probably going to suffocate from the lack of air if you don’t bleed out first because your leg is crushed underneath a huge pile of rocks and I can’t move them and-”

“ _Shhh._ ” Hawke patted his arm and smiled in a way that she thought was very soothing and reassuring.”My darling lover, your positive outlook and sunny personality are shining through once again.”

Fenris stared at her, certainly considering whether he should rip off her head as a way to get her to shut up and also gain a few more hours of breathing air.

“There are _soooo_ many ways this could be worse, let me tell you them.” Hawke cleared her throat and held up her index finger. “My leg is still attached, isn’t it? It could’ve been ripped off completely! And the other leg as well! We’re on the Wounded Coast, the cave could be flooding in a few hours. And _how_ would I be able to swim then without my legs? Also, remember the extensive breakfast we had this morning? If you hadn’t stayed the night you would have just had your usual breakfast, which I assume is a grilled rat and a sip of wine, very tasty yet not terribly filling. You’d be so hungry now and - _stop looking at me like that, your eyes are going to explode in my face!_ \- and then you’d probably be plagued with thoughts about eating me and not in the good way.”

“I’m ignoring you.”

Fenris busied himself with trying to free her leg again and Hawke chuckled.

“Just imagine what would happen if I had a stubborn and angry elf with me instead of my understanding and cheerful companion. He’d just turn his back to me and focus on ridiculous tasks and completely miss the fact that he could just squeeze through the hole back there where a dragonling just came through and _Fenris, you should probably take care of that!_ ”


	16. Fine

“I’m fine, Fenris.”

Her voice soft, not weak. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. She’s tired, not fragile. Recovering, not fading. She’s fine. She’s _fine_.

His hand joins hers on the blanket and his fingers ache to touch her but he shouldn’t, he _can’t_. The feelings he carries for her might be gentle where he keeps them buried in his chest but _he_ is not gentle and whenever he calls them to the surface they get tangled and twisted. They _hurt_. 

Her smile is bemused, not pitiful. Her eyes hold an invitation, not a rejection. 

He does not know whether _they_ will be fine. He hopes. He wishes.

What he does know is that _Hawke_ is going to be. Though his brows are still furrowed with worry and he remains at her side. Just in case…

“Fenris.”

“Yes, Hawke?”

“I’m fine.”


	17. Mhrrrr

“Food.”

Hawke grinned as she looked at the pile of blankets and pillows that began showing first signs of life and leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head and feet resting on the bed.

“Good morning, my fetching suitor.”

“Mhhhr.”

“A bit grumpy this morning, are we? Oh, excuse me, I meant _afternoon_.”

“Food. Hungry.”

“What was that? You want me to read you the story of Food the hungry dwarf? I’m not sure if I actually own this rarest of stories. Maybe I should run to Varric and ask him to write it down real quick.”

An arm appeared from underneath the blankets and a pillow was thrown in her general direction. It hit the candle on the nightstand and it crashed to the floor. He might regret that later. Then again… probably not.

“Alright, alright, I could never be this cruel to my little honeysuckle.”

“Thank. Mhrr.”

“Once upon a time, there was a little dwarf called Food. He was called that name, because he was always hungry and his parents had very little imagination. They also waited about four years until they named him, to make sure that he _really_ was always hungry.”

“ _Hawke_.”

“I know, it’s hard to believe, but he really just wanted to eat all the time! So, what was his favourite food, you might wonder? Well, he was very fond of breakfast. Every morning, his mother would bake bread so fresh, my mouth is watering just at the thought of that delicious smell. And the eggs, taken straight from underneath the chicken’s arse!”

Another pillow, this time it actually hit her arm! Impressive aim for someone too lazy to look at where they were aiming. Hawke chuckled and got up from the chair to go lie next to the blanket monster on the bed. In a move that some would describe as _bold_ , others just as _plain stupid_ , her hand lowered the blanket until she could see Fenris’ face. As the light hit his eyes, he hissed.

“Hello, lover!”

He scowled.

“There’s breakfast for you on the desk. Orana made it for you even though she always refuses when _I_ want breakfast after lunchtime! What’s your secret?”

He smirked at that and lifted the covers and pulled her close until she was lying nestled against his chest underneath the blanket.

“You do realise that this way neither of us will go get the food?”

“Mhrrr.”

Hawke shrugged, as much as it was possible with Fenris’ arms embracing her this tightly, and closed her eyes, surrendering to her fate.

“Fenris?”

“Hm.”

“Mhrr.”


	18. Book Prompt #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Annoyed, the Reader lowered the book and chewed on his fingernails." (Walter Moers, Die Stadt der Träumenden Bücher/The City of Dreaming Books, p. 333)

“Please refrain from narrating my life.”

“The handsome warrior grunted at the alluring rogue spread out on the bed who was clearly eager to please him in any way he desired. And yet, his attention had been granted only to the dusty pages laying in his lap. The same lap a beautiful woman could be sitting on right now, _naked_.”

“You and Varric should spend some time apart.”

“The green-eyed sword-wielder resorted to insulting her beautiful friendship with a famous local writer instead of reacting to her advances. The.. uh… what’s another word for alluring?”

“Seductive?”

“Yes, good. The _seductive_ female person cried a single tear of sexual frustration. Would she ever feel the touch of his rough hands on her skin again? She remembered the way he could bring her over the edge with only his tongue as if it was yesterday.”

“Perhaps because it _was_ yesterday.”

“It became clear that the flame of his passion for her had cooled, maybe even gone out completely. An hour without her was just that, an hour. Not the unbearably long stretch of time that it was to her. But oh, suddenly he got up and stalked towards the bed, eager to prove to her that his desire burned as bright as ever!”

“The warrior knew that the only way he would be able to return to his fascinating book was to sate the woman’s ignoble appetite.”

“His words might be callous but his impressive cock was already hard as a rock as he crawled over the woman’s body.”

“You have made me read some of those stories and they _never_ use the word ‘cock’.”

“Fine. His _bulging manhood_ pressed into her supple thigh and she let out a gasp. Finally!”

“Hawke.”

“Dear Reader, the… _oh_ … _mhmm_ … chapter ends here but you can be - _ah! ohhhh_ … -certain that hours of se… _yesss_ … sexual activities followed!”

“ _Hawke…_ ”

“… _hng_ … The… _mhm_ … the end!”


	19. Book Prompt #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had lines inside me - a string of guiding lights." (Jeanette Winterson, Why be happy when you could be normal?, p. 42)

The words he stumbled over stayed with him the longest. On occasion, he would wake the next day with the word still wound tightly around his tongue.

_Cacophony_

Ill-sounding. Dissonance.

Sometimes, the meaning stayed as well.

He carried them back to his mansion where they unfurled and spread out until they filled even the tiniest corners.

A half-remembered poem crawled along the wall across his bed.

A chandelier of words hung from the ceiling. Sometimes, one would fall down and explode into a thousand little pieces, each bearing significance in its own way.

_Mischievous_

She had told him to always think of her when he heard that word. He stored it around his wrist, woven into the red fabric along with a myriad of others.

Then there were words that seemed simple, used every day by some. And yet they laid heavy on his tongue, reluctant to be spoken. The words accompanying them never seemed to fit; the meaning ascribed to them by others not matching his own.

These were the most frustrating and they followed him, taunting him with promises of things he lost and did not know how to recover.

_Home. Family._

Indifference at best, bitterness at worst.

He had not yet found the words to describe the place where these things were ripped from him, no phrases to stitch it together.

Even though it seemed futile - what else was left to him but to keep searching?


	20. Book Prompt #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not accustomed to this sort of thing, stepping on thirty-centimeter wide sections of slick rock crawling with leeches in the dark is an experience likely to be memorable. (Haruki Murakami, Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, p. 234)

“Squish, squish, squish!”

Hawke’s enthusiasm was loathsome and the leech-mush her boots left behind nauseating. Especially, since he was walking behind her and thus had to decide between stepping into _her_ mush or creating even more. Jumping down into the stream roaring next to them seemed a lot more preferable.

“ _Eurgh_ , I fail to see how you can think that this is _fun_. Why are we doing this again?”

Squish.

“Having a little romantic getaway is not a good enough reason?”

Squish. Squish.

“Then why are Isabela and Merrill accompanying us?”

Squish.

“The more the merrier?”

Fenris groaned and then yelped as he slipped on a particularly mushy spot and nearly fell over the edge of this assortment of nefarious rocks that was described to him as “a lovely path through an adorable little cave, I’ve never seen anything like it” just a few hours earlier. _Might just be the last thing any of us will ever see…_

“Kitten and I are happy to join you in _anything_ you want to do, aren’t we?”

“Bela, look! They’re so cute, you really have to see them up close!”

There was a high-pitched scream and then Isabela’s bosom was pressed into his back, her fingers digging into his shoulders and she was hissing into his ear.

“We have to get out of here, I can’t take anymore of these disgusting little shitters.”

“We’re trapped between The Leech Whisperer and this person up front who I do not know and will refuse to acknowledge from now on.”

“Awww, that _hurts_ , Fenris.”

Squish, squish.

 _Ugh_ , he could feel the leech paste rise up between his toes with every step.

“UGHHHHH!”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there! Don’t you hear the waterfall?”

“Sweetheart, there better be some fucking _diamonds_ there or you’ll have to sleep with one eye open for the next few weeks!”

There was indeed a huge cave around the next corner, housing a waterfall and a large pool of water. Delicious water. _Clean_ water.

“Don’t worry, Bela, there is a gigantic red X on the map right over there. The booty will be _amazing_!”

Fenris had no thought for treasures of any kind; discarded his sword and gloves without care and rushed into the water. He only went in knee-deep but deep enough to be rid of all the goo that had accumulated under his feet. He crouched down and used his hands to be able to clean even between his toes when _something_ latched onto his hand. No. No!

“Leeches!”

As quickly as he had run in, Fenris jumped out of the water, wildly waving his arms in an attempt to get rid of those disgusting bloodsuckers. _Why?_

Merrill, being the leech lover that she was, gently loosened the thing from his hand and then made cooing noises at it. WHY?

He stomped over to Hawke who didn’t even try to hide her laughter and was about to go on a long rant that definitely would have made her feel very guilty or at least make her fake feeling guilty, which would have resulted in some excellent “sorry I made you walk through leeches” sex, if he had not been interrupted by Isabela indignantly shoving the map in Hawke’s face.

“This literally says _Leech Cave_ on it. LEECH CAVE! There’s little leech drawings all over it! And you led us into **the Leech Cave!** Hawke!”

“Yes, but…”

“It says: _Don’t bother. Only leeches inside._ ”

“Well, they probably missed it. The red cross…”

“… IS CROSSING OUT THE CAVE BECAUSE THERE’S ONLY LEECHES. **LEECH CAVE!** ”

“Even though, that is an honest mistake and nobody could have foreseen all these leeches, how should I have…”

Isabela’s eyes met Fenris’ and in an instant they both knew what to do. Without further ado, he took her arms and Isabela took her legs and before anyone could say “Leech”, Hawke was thrown into the pool. The screaming and cursing that ensued brought a smile to his face.

“Poor Hawke! Now she’ll be all wet on the way back!”

And the only way out was how they came in…

“ **UGH!** ”


	21. Book Prompt #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truths, too, hold each other and stand on nought. (Michael Ende, Der Spiegel im Spiegel: ein Labyrinth/The mirror in the mirror: a labyrinth, p. 99)

They float above the burning ground and she is not certain they haven’t caught fire yet.

It’s all messed up in her head and yet it’s _her_ everyone looks to. And Hawke knows nothing.

She is standing atop a mountain of all her sins and now it’s crumbling beneath her feet. She thinks it must be her punishment for the wall of lies she’s built around her over the years.

 _I couldn’t do anything._  
They deserved to die.   
This is the right thing.  
I didn’t know.

_I didn’t know._

She chooses a side in a war where there can be no victors. Being a survivor is all she has left and all she can hope for.

Her spine becomes steel as she cuts through whoever stands in her way, her hands are claws that tear apart everything they touch and while the city is burning, her eyes have gone dark. She sees neither their pleading nor their surrender.

Mercy is a truth she cannot afford to believe in.

She lives.

She leaves Kirkwall just as she entered it: a refugee on the run. What she has gained are the losses she carries with her in the lines on her forehead and the ache in her bones.

There’s _him_ , too.

She has no hope to give, she knows neither peace nor joy and yet, he _stays_.

His hands are strong and he walks with purpose.

Where she has only doubt, he _knows_.

She thinks his truth might carry hers.


	22. I'll Go

_“We stand upon the precipice of change.”_

Those words keep coming back to her.  
    
Kirkwall is once again in unrest. Things are bubbling under the surface and it is only a matter of time until the ground tears open and spews forth a horde of angry blood mages, demons, evil templars, dragons, those disgusting spiders, all of the dust from Fenris’ mansion, whatever it was that covered the floor in the Hanged Man, and more blood mages.   
  
Hawke is so _tired_ of it. Tired of feeling the tremors in the ground and not being able to do anything to stop the oncoming storm. Tired of standing at the edge, only to be pulled back at the last moment. The strings holding her are worn out, snapping one by one. She is not sure how many are left.

  
  
  
“I might have to leave Kirkwall.”  
  
She whispers the words into his skin, eyes squeezed shut and her face hidden against his neck. He doesn’t say anything, only tightens his arms around her.  
  
“There’s gonna be… things will happen that will force _The Champion_ to be involved, one way or another. And when that day comes… I might have to leave.”

_If I’m still alive_ , she thinks but doesn’t say.  
  
His hand comes to rest on her cheek, and he moves her head until they lie side by side, facing each other. His gaze is fierce; it hits her hard and she wants to look away, but he won’t let her.  
  
“Alone?”  
  
His tone is flat, almost angry. She tries to read his expression but it’s difficult to see anything but his eyes, burning into her.  
  
“I don’t… I won’t ask you. I _couldn’t_ ask you to leave, this is… if this is your home now, I can’t ask you. I _want to_ , but I won’t.”  
  
She closes her eyes again while she waits for his reaction; feeling small and vulnerable with her worries laid bare. Emotions - not a thing Hawke handles well.  
  
“So, you’re saying that you think Kirkwall is going to be as much fun to live in as the Bone Pit and you would be fine with me staying here, watching the city burn around me?”  
  
Her eyes fly open and there’s a gentle smile around his lips and tears in the corners of his eyes.   
  
“Well, if you put it like that I sound like a huge ass.”  
  
“I’m sure there are quite a few people in this city who would agree to that.”   
  
At that, she snorts a laugh and kicks him in the shin, though with little force behind it.  
  
“Which is probably _why_ I’ll have to leave.”  
  
Fenris’ lips find hers then, in a slow kiss that soothes her troubled thoughts. Her heart stops beating so frantically in her chest, until it speeds up for other reasons. His hands are warm against her skin and she doesn’t want to think about cold nights without him by her side, or lonely roads stretching out before her, or worrying where he is, how he is, is he alive, are any of them alive, is she the only one left…  
  
Her fingers dig into his back and he breaks the kiss and strokes away her tears.  
  
“Where you go, I go.”


	23. Delicate Pleasures

“There you go!”

Fenris eyed the mug Hawke sat down in front of him with suspicion. A not-quite appealing dark yellow colour and a smell that could be enticing if it weren’t for the strong fumes of alcohol burning his nose.

“What’s this?”

Hawke sat down next to him on the bench, a mug with the same beverage before her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering like the stars in the… _Fuck, I only inhaled this brew once and my thoughts are already three sheets to the wind._

“Hot apple cider!” She leaned forward, inhaled with closed eyes and then inevitably started coughing as she breathed in the intoxicating steam. “With just a _tiny_ splash of rum."

 “And why are we drinking this?”

“It’s winter and in Ferelden, if it’s winter, you drink hot apple cider.” Her eyes narrowed for the shortest moment and Fenris would have missed it if he wasn’t watching her so intently. But it was hard not to look at Hawke. It’s why he showed up so early to their Wicked Grace nights in the Hanged Man. Because _she_ was there. They’d never outright agreed to meet early, but somehow it happened. Every week. It gave them the opportunity to just be next to each other without their friends’ questioning looks or lewd comments in Isabela’s case. And it wasn’t the charged atmosphere of their reading lessons, where every deviation from the actual lesson usually led to one of them stammering a far-fetched excuse and leaving in a flustered rush. But this, this was comfortable. And not too long ago he’d feared they could never go back to ‘comfortable’.

He suddenly realised that he’d just been staring at Hawke like a fool and quickly raised his mug in a toast.

“To Ferelden then.”

“And to apples.” Hawke grinned at his confused face. “You said you like apples.”

Warmth spread out through his body and he quickly hid his touched smile behind his mug.

“To apples.”


	24. Impatience (nsfw)

Hawke started pulling down her pants as soon as she reached her room, shimmying out of her knickers as she hopped over to the bed and then laid down and pressed her hand between her legs. She was already ridiculously wet and so terribly horny. Stupid Fenris and his stupid gorgeous body and his stupid knowing smirk and his smug “I have to sharpen my blade, no that’s not a euphemism, and can’t fuck you right now because I’m mean and cruel” reasoning. She should just stay away during his training sessions but…  _mhmm_.

In her mind, Fenris didn’t just turn her the cold shoulder but instead ripped open his sweat drenched white shirt, muscles rippling and glistening in the sun. His hungry gaze focused on her as he stalked forward, shedding his clothing piece by piece. Or no, he kept them on. Hawke was the naked one. Yes.

With the hand that wasn’t furiously rubbing her clit, she pinched her nipple and imagined his hot mouth on her. His fingers and tongue between her legs, bringing her to the edge and…

“You’re so impatient.”

Hawke opened her eyes to see Fenris leaning against the closed door. When had he come in? Probably flew in, carried by his extreme smugness. Asshole knew the effect he had on her. Ugh, she’d tell him to go if she didn’t  _need_  his cock inside her. Since she wouldn’t know Subtlety even if it introduced itself to her, handshake and all and repeated its name thirty times and then said “Have you met my wife Nuance?”, she just spread her legs at Fenris, so he’d know exactly where she wanted him. The bastard simply chuckled and didn’t move an inch from his spot.

“Fenris, come on already.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Was he serious? Why couldn’t he just ravage her? As her incredulous look only got a raised eyebrow in return, she huffed, reluctantly lifted her hand from her clit, took off her shirt and threw it at Fenris. He caught it and let it run through his fingers, his eyes raking over her body. At least it was evident that his cock didn’t possess the same nonchalance as the rest of Fenris. Maybe it was because it spent so much time inside of Hawke, some things were bound to rub off, so to say.

“Touch your breasts.”

She glared at him but did what he asked nevertheless. She ran her fingers over her nipples, circling around and then plucking them between her fingertips. She couldn’t hold back a moan and Fenris moved a few steps closer, slowly taking off his shirt. Oh so that was how it was gonna be.

“Move one hand between your legs.”

Hawke bit her lip in anticipation as she moved her right hand down her stomach and lower, keeping eye contact with Fenris as he took off his belt. Trying to encourage him to join her as soon as possible, she let out soft mewls and moans as she stroked herself, slower this time. Fenris swallowed, hard and Hawke almost let out a gloating snicker. That would undo her previous work though, so she turned it into a groan.

“Fenris, I need you.”

This was a gamble. Sometimes pleading only smuggified him more, making her beg for long, drawn-out moments before he gave her what she wanted. Other times…

Fenris growled and in one swift motion he was on the bed above her, naked. His lips and tongue moved against hers and one of his hands joined hers between her legs. Her moans were not exaggerated this time, muffled by his kisses. His skin was hot and it still smelled like sweat and whatever oil he used for his sword and why did he have to make her wait so long, she really…

“Keep touching yourself”, he growled against her mouth and then his cock finally entered her and oh,  _yes_ , that’s why.


	25. The usual things

The morning sun gave Sundermount  a soft glow and a gentle breeze scattered the stench of undead skeletons and charred demon flesh that Fenris’ generally associated with this place. He almost thought walking up the mountain was pleasant and worth it to get up too early simply to collect a few herbs to earn a bit of gold that Hawke didn’t actually need. _Almost._ Waking up before dawn had definitely been more enjoyable than usual. Because of the _unusual_ : Finding Hawke next to him as he opened his eyes, her finger tracing the tattoos on his chin as she wished him a good morning. Her pulling away the covers had been less enjoyable though.

“If you do it like this, the climb is less exhausting, I swear!” Hawke was walking in front of their group, as always, though she’d turned around for reasons only known to herself. She caught his eye and winked at him and his lips quirked into a smile almost automatically.

“Hawke, stop walking backwards, you’re going to…”

Not for the first time and probably not for the last time, Aveline’s exasperated warning came too late. Hawke tripped over a stone or her own feet or both and rolled down the hill they were climbing until she was stopped by Fenris’ legs, lying on her back and grinning up at him. There wasn’t even a hint of embarrassment on her face. There never was.

He just raised an eyebrow and offered her his hand, which she eagerly grabbed to pull herself up. As she stood in front of him, dusting off her leather armour, his hands moved of their own volition and began plucking a few stray blades of grass from her hair. As she noticed his fussing, Hawke turned around and presented her backside to him.

“Any grass on my butt?”

There was, of course and he patted off the grass and dirt from her back and ass. As he looked up again, he found Merrill and Aveline staring at them. Merrill’s face made the same expression it wore whenever she looked at things like cats or hot cinnamon buns or Varric’s chest hair or Isabela and oh no, she was not gonna mention his ‘puppy eyes’ again, was she? Aveline simply rolled her eyes and muttered “about time” under her breath as she turned around. He quietly agreed with her on that front.

As his eyes fell on Hawke again, she was once more facing him with the most curious expression on her face. She was smiling, but not her usual mischievous grin. Something softer, something quieter… something he found he’d like to see more often. Until it wasn’t a rare sight anymore. Until it was familiar.

He wondered whether he’d ever be that lucky.


	26. Taking Care of Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: "first time one of them gets seriously sick"

“I’m leaking.”

Fenris reluctantly glances up from his book and over to Hawke who plops herself down on the mattress next to him, looking terribly exhausted considering she’d only been helping Orana shop for groceries. Which usually just consisted of her eating a fresh loaf of bread while watching Orana run around the market.

“Do you want me to fetch you Lady Tinkleton?”

“Not _that_ kind of leaking.” She sniffs indignantly and then rubs her nose. “If it was… _ugh_ , I can’t even think of a snarky reply.”

Fenris closes his book, sufficiently worried now. Hawke’s face is flushed and when he touches her forehead, her skins burns under his hand.

“You have a fever.” His statement comes out calm, yet his mind is reeling. Hawke never gets sick. Hangovers and related ailments, yes. The occasional stuffed nose and accompanying days of endless complaints, also yes. Bloody battle wounds that send his worry through the roof, yes, yes and _yes_. But this is new. And he’s not quite sure what to do. “Shall I get Anders.”

“It’s just the flu. I’ll just sleep it off.” Her eyes are unfocused and as she huffs out a breath he swears he can see the air rising from her as if they were outside in the freezing cold. Immediately, he pulls the blanket over her and fetches another one from the chair in the corner.

“How about some cold water. Hot water? Tea? Soup? Wine? No, probably no wine.” He hovers over her, wringing his hands but she simply shakes her head and huddles further under the blankets. Maybe she was right, maybe she just needed some sleep. He smoothes the hair from her face, adjusts her blankets even though they’re pretty adjusted already and then sits down on the bed, waiting for her to fall asleep.

* * *

As Hawke wakes, she finds she’s turned into a caterpillar. She can’t move her limbs as she’s wrapped in a tight cocoon of warmth and fabric. _I knew this day would come._

Her eyesight is still very much human, though, and she sees that the cocoon consists of at least three blankets, her dog and Fenris, whose arms and legs are wrapped around her and whose head rests heavy on her chest, pillowed on the scarf Orana had knitted him past winter. It would be ridiculously cozy if it wasn’t so _hot_.

As Hawke is one of the best rogues this side of the bed, she manages to free her arms without waking anyone and rubs the sleep from her eyes with the now-almost-dry towel that was conveniently placed on her forehead. The bedside table is bursting with things. _Someone_ , and she has a sneaking suspicion as to who, has piled an interesting mixture of flasks and mugs on there. She spies water, tea, whisky (nice!), a lyrium potion (she isn’t even a mage?), Fenris’ sword oil (which - what?) and a pot of honey. She wonders what would happen if you mixed it all together. And then drank it.

The head on her chest moves and Fenris sits up next to her with a loud yawn. She smiles at him when he looks down at her, his hand immediately feeling her forehead.

“How are you? You still feel hot.”

“Why thank you!” She winks at him and he groans.

“So better, I take it. Good, I was… ”

“Worried?” She catches his hand in hers and presses a kiss to his fingers.

“Never.” He smirks and then lies down beside her again, stroking her hair.

“Fenris.”

“Mhm.”

“What were you doing with the sword oil.”

“Shh, you’re sick, you need to rest.”


	27. First Kiss

“Your dog is staring at me.”

“Pet her then.”

Hawke was lounging in an armchair, legs swung over the armrest and she was flipping through a book without much interest in what was actually on the pages. An enviable disinterest, he thought. Fenris stared back at Poppy the dog, who was pretty much eye-level with him while he was sitting cross-legged in Hawke’s library.

Hawke’s mother had insisted he stay for dinner and ever since the Deep Roads nobody declined one of Leandra’s invitations anymore. While he always enjoyed the food Bodahn served, the prospect of Leandra politely asking him about his occupation as if he was not squatting in a high town mansion full of corpses and ghosts and there was anything to tell that was appropriate for light dinner conversation, wasn’t very appealing. Neither was he particularly looking forward to Leandra’s pointed comments about when Hawke was going to find herself a suitable husband and Hawke’s following grimaces, while Fenris would have to sit there with a forced smile, trying to ignore that he obviously wasn’t included in ‘suitable’. Not that that was a status he desired for himself or even remotely thought that he was ‘suitable’ for anything that didn’t require him to use his sword or to rip out someone’s heart.

The dog was still staring. Fenris scowled.

“I thought she was a grisly warrior, why does she need to be petted.”

The dog whined, a sound entirely unbefitting the mighty fighter he knew her to be. Hawke put her book away and then sat down next to him, cuddling Poppy against her.

“Awww, don’t listen to grumpy Fenris! Who’s the best puppy? _You_ are! Yes you are! Nobody’s a better puppy than Lady Penelope of Woofcester.”

Fenris rubbed his forehead. “ _That’s_ her full name? You must be joking.”

“Fenris, when have I ever made a joke in my life, _ever?_ ” Hawke clutched her chest dramatically but started laughing at his sceptical look. “But it _is_ her name. My little Poppy-schmoppy!”

Hawke made kissy faces while Poppy licked her face. _Ugh._

“Puppy cuddles are the best! You should get some as well!” She pushed the dog towards him and then Poppy and he were staring at each other once more. “Now pet her.”

Fenris sighed and tentatively put his hand on Poppy’s head. Her fur was surprisingly soft, despite all the blood it was regularly drenched in. Her breath was something else, however. He scratched her behind her ear as he’d seen Hawke do it many times before and the dog let out a happy bark and then, before he had any chance to dodge, she _licked his face._ It was wet and smelly and his grimace must have been quite impressive because Hawke was laughing so hard she fell backwards to the floor.

“She loves you!”

Poppy barked again and then turned her back on him to go investigate the clanking sounds coming from the kitchen.

Fenris crinkled his nose, his face still wet and definitely _dripping._ Hawke had recovered her composure and sat up next to him. She took one look at his face, snorted a laugh and then wiped the slobber off with the sleeve of her shirt. The touch startled him, not because it was unpleasant or unwanted, but the casual nature of it.

“I’m sorry, she’s a very enthusiastic kisser!”

He huffed a laugh at that and she leaned forward, her knee pressing into his.

“There’s still some dog slobber left.”

She used her thumb this time, swiping across his cheek and suddenly he found himself turning towards her; reaching up to mirror her gesture with his hand on her face. She inhaled sharply, her eyes going wide. His heart was beating rapidly and just as he was about to lower his hand, get up and leave the mansion, never to return, she smiled. Her finger pads barely brushed his face but it felt like liquid heat was flowing from her fingers and seeping into his skin. It should have burned him and yet he leaned into the touch.

His own fingers slowly caressed her cheek, his thumb stroking just underneath her lip and his eyes were drawn to her mouth, her lips slightly open and before he could talk himself out of it as all the other times before, he kissed her.

It felt clumsy. His lips pressed against hers and he wasn’t sure if he should move them, her nose poked into his cheek, and his fingers were slightly sticky from the dog slobber. He didn’t want it to stop regardless, but he let her go after a while anyway. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips still parted as they stared at each other and it was one of those moments that begged for one of her inappropriate jokes, just to fill this deafening silence.

“You taste like dog.”

These were words he had chosen to let escape from his mouth. They hung between them, stretching and growing until they were pressing against him, and they would probably grow until they filled the entire room and he’d be squished against the wall. He really hoped so, anyway. Hawke blinked and said nothing. His fingers still laid against her face and there was a very insistent voice yelling in his mind not to remove them, that maybe she could feel in the slight tremble of his hand that he was just nervous and didn’t in fact just insult her. He counted up to 5 blinks and an eternity passed between each of them. Then she laughed.

“Well, you do too, ass. But you better get used to it, because I’m Fereldan.”

“I should get more acquainted with the taste then.”

This time, it was still clumsy. His blood was rushing in his ears and his fingers were still shaking and noses got in each other’s way but it didn’t matter. She sighed into his mouth and her fingers tangled in his hair and it was warm and she was soft and her tongue brushed against his lip and then he tilted his head and they _fit_ and…

The door opened and they jumped apart, Hawke immediately getting on her feet, wringing her hands in her shirt.

“Messere Hawke, dinner is served.” It was Bodahn and he used to like the dwarf, he really did but right now he could strangle him. Who cared about dinner? How was he supposed to sit next to Leandra when she probably only had to take one look at his face to be able to tell that he’d just kissed Hawke.

_He’d just kissed Hawke._

“We’re coming, thank you, Bodahn.”

Hawke looked down at him and then away again, her face suddenly so red that he’d be worried if his own didn’t feel as hot as hers looked. He felt… so very young.

“Maybe I should take my leave.” Fenris stood up as well and tried to catch her eye.

“Oh, no, please, you don’t have to, I mean… you should… stay, yes.” She was staring at her feet now.

“I… am not certain I’d be able to successfully engage in dinner conversation at the moment.”

Her eyes darted up to his and a tiny smile was playing around her lips.

“That is… yeah.” She let out a long breath, making a few of her hairs tremble. “This was… nice. We… uh… I’ll see you around?”

“Yes.”

He wanted to say more but had no confidence that he wouldn’t trip over his words and turn well-intentioned sentences into accidental insults. Instead, he just nodded at her and then left. Fled.

The fresh air outside tingled his lips, still wet from their kiss and he knew he’d recall this feeling every time he’d look at her. He knew he’d _wanted_ for a while and now he’d gotten a taste and it only left him hungrier than before. And he didn’t know how he felt about that.


	28. Sea Foam

There are times he thinks of the sea.

Endless waves invade Danarius’ mansion, throwing themselves against the unyielding walls.

Ostentatious furniture becomes driftwood. Residue of spilled blood and magic scrubbed away. Freezing water curls around his legs, trying to pull him under. He stands as immovable as a mountain, chained to the ground. Sea foam caresses his neck, his lips. Salt fills his senses.

The tide is relentless, inevitable. He stands naked and watches the ocean corrode the lyrium on his body.

He’s left smooth and cold as stone in an empty mansion as the water retreats.

He is free.

He hopes and he fears the water will return until the pieces of everything he is break apart and dissolve into sand.

* * *

The sun has just disappeared, though it is a reluctant parting and the dying light casts everything in a rusty gleam. The heat stays, lingering in the air, clinging to the stones underneath his feet. He feels it, even in Hightown where it’s always colder.

He lingers, too.

A drop of sweat runs down Hawke’s face and his eyes follow its path along her cheek, her neck, until it disappears beyond her shirt. He wants to lean in and breathe out against the wet line to raise goosebumps on her skin, reenacting something that might have happened once. A memory, a dream. He doesn’t know. He never knows.

His fingers hurt these days, bursting at the seams with longing.

“Fenris.” The skin around her eyes crinkles as one corner of her mouth curves upwards. “You can come in, if you want.”

He has long accepted that _he_ won’t stop wanting. 

Elation and remorse entwine around his chest.

Her finger brushes against the red cloth around his wrist.

He wants…

His hand closes around hers and he lifts it to his face. His eyes on hers as he presses his lips to the inside of her hand. The taste of sea foam.

“Good night, Hawke.”

She lets out a shivering breath as he lets go of her hand and then laughs as she disappears inside her home.


	29. Wherefore art thou pants?

“I appear to have lost my pants.”

He’d meant it as an accusation but Hawke seemed not perturbed in the least.

“Do you need them?”

Nobody would be fooled by her innocent tone, especially not Fenris.

“They’re my _pants,_ Hawke.”

She grinned and looked him up and down, taking in his pantsless form.

“What’s your point?”

He sighed from the bottom of his heart and began sifting through one of the several piles of discarded clothes and books decorating this room; though with little enthusiasm as he knew that if Hawke had indeed taken them, he’d only find them when _she_ decided he could.

“If you want, you could get into _my_ pants.”

He didn’t need to turn around to know that this terrible line had been accompanied by an objectionable eyebrow waggle. Why was there a half-eaten apple underneath this dirty shirt. He considered throwing it at Hawke, but then decided he was above such petty things and put it back between the clothes.

“Are you ignoring me?”

He very much did not turn around and walked over to the next pile of assorted things.

“So rude, I didn’t even take them.”

That only deserved a disbelieving scoff as a reaction.

“Maybe you should take this as a sign to store more of your clothing here.”

At this, he did glance at her over her shoulder, not sure whether she was still jesting.

“Or do you really only have one pair? If so, _please_ buy another quickly, I bet Bela 5 gold pieces.”

“Is this the reason you took them. Because of a bet?”

“Would I do that?”

She answered that question herself, by grinning widely.

Fenris carded through the last pile of stuff and then sat down on the bed with a huff.

“I am forced to spend yet another day in your mansion, it seems.”

A frown flickered on Hawke’s forehead, like the first sparks of starting a fire, not yet enough to ignite. She quickly moved next to him and as she set down, her expression was smooth again.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to! Orana took your pants to clean them, I’m sure they’ll be dry soon and…”

Fenris smiled and moved until he could lean his forehead against hers.

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m just saying… if you need some space, or… you know…” She waved her hand in an attempt to finish the sentence via gesturing and Fenris closed the last gap between them in order to kiss her thoroughly.

“Mhmm. _Less_ space.”

He tugged on her hips until she moved to sit in his lap and then smirked at her flushed face before worrying her throat with his teeth. The little gasp that escaped her made him glad that he was already pantsless, one less obstacle between them. He laid back on the bed, pulling her with him until she laid on top of him, pressing her body against his.

“Space is overrated.” Hawke grinned down at him and then she moved her hand down to stroke his cock, making him gasp this time. “Pants, too, are overrated.”

At this moment, Fenris agreed.


	30. I Yarn For You

Fenris couldn’t say exactly what it was that caught his attention. Maybe the fact alone that it was _Isabela_ of all people doing this was what made him look closer. That didn’t quite explain how he ended up sitting down next to her and asking her about it. Or how she decided to indulge his obvious fascination and stopped by his mansion one day with two needles and some wool and then left without another word, just her usual smirk.

It took him two weeks until he picked up the needles and made his first clumsy attempt at knitting.

It took him another week to pick up the knitting from the ground where he’d thrown it in frustration.

Slowly, it got easier. It got better. It got… comforting.

The rhythmic clacking lulled him into an almost meditative state. Movements that had felt alien at first, now he didn’t even have to think about them anymore. The feel of the wool under his fingers, rough and yet soft. When he made a mistake, he simply undid it and started over again. The repetition was drawing the chaos from his mind and poured it into the growing cloth.

He couldn’t remember ever having _created_ something, his purpose having only ever been destruction.

* * *

It had been one of the rare times Hawke’s eyes were not glinting with mischief but with nostalgia. He watched with her as the air she breathed out made a cloud in the cold air and then slowly dissipated.

“Winter. “ Hawke smiled, though he thought it was tinged with sadness.

Then she’d shuddered and tried to pull her cloak closer around her neck. Her short hair not even covering her ears, beaming bright red in the icy air on Sundermount.

* * *

Fenris hadn’t started this with the intention of giving it to her. The thought had _never_ once crossed his mind, only the occasional horror at Hawke’s amusement if she were to happen to stumble in on him while he was knitting.

And yet… He went over to her place in the evening, every step requiring a conscious decision to _keep going._

He hadn’t thought to wrap the scarf in anything. So naturally, it started to rain.

Fenris pressed it tight against his stomach and awkwardly hunched over trying to shield it from the rain.

He declined her invitation to step inside the mansion, thinking it unbearable to look into her eyes after giving her what he was now convinced was nothing but a misshapen lump. He should have left it in front of her door with a note from the beginning. Or without a note. Why was he here. Maybe he wanted her to see that he’d done something. Was it vanity?

“A scarf.”

How well he knew her by now, how long must he have studied her face that her expression now was just the one he’d expected. The slight smirk, the questioning arch of her eyebrow. Her shoulders relaxed as they only were when she felt as safe as someone like Hawke could ever feel.

“For me?”

He nodded.

“From you?”

A thoroughly unwelcome heat began rising up from his neck and he tried really hard to keep it from showing on his face as he nodded again as confirmation.

He watched anxiously as she examined the scarf, smoothed her fingers over the wool and then held it closer to the light. There wasn’t much to see. It was an earthy brown, not what people would consider particularly beautiful or striking. But seeing it now in Hawke’s hands, he thought it had a certain warmth to it.

“It matches my eyes.”

She looked at him, a smile on her face that showed such affection that it pierced right through his chest and laid around his heart.

“What’s the occasion?”

For a few, arduous seconds, he blankly stared at her.

“Your neck was cold.”

She lifted her hand to her neck as if to check whether that was still the case and her mouth dropped slightly open in surprise.

“Oh! Thank you. That’s… “ She was searching for words and her fingers grasped the scarf tighter. “That’s really thoughtful, Fenris.”

She started as if to say something more and then just bit her lip while moving her eyes over his face as if she was searching for something. Probably a clue as to what the fuck was going on.

“I made it myself.”

The words left his mouth before he realised what he was saying. _Why._ Why did he say that. She could have just gone about her life thinking he’d bought the thing at a random market stall or found it in a ditch somewhere. He’d just have been thoughtful. Admitting that he’d _made_ it… making him look like he’d set out to knit this _for her._ Was it not too much? A possible confession of the existence of feelings that’d been left unmentioned ever since he’d fucked things up.

There was a charged moment where these things hung in the air between them next to their visible breaths.

“Hidden talents, I like it.”

She grinned, he smirked and shortly after they exchanged their goodbyes.

* * *

She wore it. Resting cozily around her neck as if it was meant to be there. He tried to not put any meaning in there. He’d given it to her to wear it, after all. But thread, knots, string of fate… these were words that easily crossed his mind and begged to be considered. But he wouldn’t give in to such… sentimentalities.   

However…

In the end, it seemed somehow fitting that he gave _her_ the first thing he’d made with these cursed hands.


	31. Snow

Snow in Kirkwall.

If they hadn’t just been attacked by a group of angry blood mages and/or abominations and disintegrated them all, she’d say the sight of snow in the city was a _magical_ one. Even in Lowtown, the air was crisp, if not quite fresh. And it was weirdly silent, even the bandit gangs seemed to be too wary of potentially slipping on random patches of ice to be around. Or they finally learned to stay clear of Hawke and her friends. … Probably not that.

In the snow, everything was brighter. And calmer.

Hawke looked forward to walking back home through the sleeping city after warming up with a pint in the Hanged Man. She smiled wistfully at the image of warming her tired feet in front of a cozy fire.

Suddenly, an earsplitting scream echoed between the walls and something wet and cold came in contact with her neck. Only belatedly she realised that the scream was coming from _her_ throat.

“Gotcha!”

Isabela cackled and then passed the screaming and flailing Hawke to disappear inside of the Hanged Man.

“Get it off! GET IT _OFF!_ MY BACK! ICE! COLD! DYING! HELP!”

These words were, of course, uttered with the utmost dignity and she was not at all convulsing in the attempt so somehow get the wet snow out of her clothes. The erratic movements only seemed to make everything worse though and she tried standing completely still. It seemed to somewhat help.

“Serves you right.”

Aveline, the traitor, just walked straight by her without any attempt at help. Was this _still_ because of the snowball to the face from this morning?

“BEING RESENTFUL IS A SIN IN THE EYES OF THE MAKER, AVE!”

The guard-captain just lifted one hand in a rude gesture and then entered the Hanged Man as well. That left her with only one hope.

“Fenris? _Pleeeeeease?_ ”

He crossed his arms and bemusedly took in her pleading expression, not making the slightest movements that indicated that he’d free her from the slush that was quickly travelling down to her butt.

“Please, it’s so cold! My back! I’ll never throw another snowball at you, I swear! Just, please, get this off of me!”

He sighed a sigh that he seemed to reserve for exactly those moments when he gave in to something Hawke asked him to do, even though he didn’t want to.

She turned her back to him and soon she felt his warm fingers ghosting along her neck. Hawke shivered, and not only because she was cold. Why did she have so many hot friends? Though her attraction to Fenris had been more than just a plain appreciation of his sizzling good looks for a while now. D _ON’T FUCKING THINK ABOUT THAT WHILE HE’S RUMMAGING AROUND YOUR CLOTHES._ Was she blushing? Fuck.

Fenris hopefully didn’t notice her inner turmoil, too busy scraping out the wet snow and cursing under his breath because his fingers got cold. After too long a time of scraping and Hawke trying desperately not to think about how they both should warm up naked under a blanket, preferably while fucking, Fenris seemed to have finished his job as best as he could and turned her around again. Hawke struggled to put on an expression that didn’t expose her horny thoughts.

“Thank you! You’re my best and _only_ friend.”

“What about those that just went into the Hanged Man?”, he chuckled and pointed towards the tavern. His stupid chuckle. She wanted to hear it closer to her ear and also maybe lick his neck while he was doing that.

“Fuck them, they can get eaten and pooped out by a wyvern, for all I care.”

“A lovely image.”

Another lovely image was Fenris pinning her to the floor, dangerously grinning at her while his fingers stroked her cunt and- _Bad Hawke! NO!_

“Hey, since you practically saved my life just now, how about I treat you to some ale?”

“I’m too cold to care about how disgusting the swirl there tastes now anyway, might as well.”

With enthusiastic steps, Hawke strode forward, totally casual, and not at all aroused. A little too enthusiastic. Suddenly, she slipped on ice, tried to grab hold of something, managed to grab something, that something fell too, there was yelling, a hard impact and suddenly she found herself on her back, Fenris lying on top of her. Just like in her fantasy, except that they were clothed and also she was lying in very cold snow and Fenris looked pained and slightly angry instead of seductive. He didn’t have a boner either, as far as she could tell.

“Sorry.”

She truly was.

“Ow.”

His dry delivery made her snort a laugh and thankfully he looked amused now, too. He made no attempt to move. He was so close. So close! How could she _not_ think dirty thoughts, honestly. She’d just have to lift her head a bit and then she’d be able to kiss him. His delicious lips.

Why was he staring at her like that. Had she said any of that out loud? Maker’s shitty balls, please no. He stared at her some more, but she thought it was not a “this lady apparently wants to jump my bones” look in his eyes but a contemplative one. Her heart sped up under his intense gaze and she felt the desperate need to somehow lighten the moment.

“Hi.”

Smooth, Hawke.

“Hi,” he replied, looking slightly confused.

Then he jolted, as if suddenly realising that he was still on top of her and quickly got up, reaching out his hand to help her stand. Her pants were soaked at her butt but she didn’t even care.

“Shall we join our traitor friends at the Hanged Man?”

“Sure.”

“I have one question though, Fenris.”

“Mhm.”

“Did you see Bela sneak up to me with snow in her hands?”

“No comment.”

“I hate you all!”


	32. The Demonic Cycle

Fenris woke up with a gasp. He rubbed his eyes to regain his senses, but the room was pitch black, it must still be in the middle of the night. The hair on his neck was standing up. Something was _wrong._

He reached over to Hawke… but where her warm body should be, his fingers only grasped the sheet. A wet sheet. Was that… was that blood?

The sleep completely vanished from his senses and was replaced by cold terror spreading through his body. If something happened to her… He couldn’t…

He was about to yell her name as he heard a strange noise from the hallway. Something slow and heavy was sliding across the floor, accompanied by barely audible moaning. Something was in this mansion. Something that didn’t belong here.

_Hawke, you better be alright. Don’t you dare…_

He fought the urge to storm out into the hallway in a blind rage, killing everything and everyone in his way. How did he not notice? Sleeping next to her… while…

He had to keep a cool head.

His jaw grimly clenched together so that his teeth hurt, he put on a pair of trousers (didn’t want to confront any intruders stark naked), grabbed his sword and then stalked towards the noise. Whatever it was, it was slowly making its way away from him and he tried his best to not think of a huge demon crawling away with Hawke’s limp body hanging in his fangs or…

As he got closer, the moaning got louder; every shuffle forward was accompanied by a badly suppressed groan, sounding as though the creature was hurt.

He still couldn’t make sense of how he’d stayed asleep and why wouldn’t she wake him…

Fenris was just about to pounce on the creature, having come close enough that he could make out the shadowy, weirdly humanoid outline in the dark, as it groaned again. Weirdly familiar… had he fought this before? No, something about the voice…

There was a loud thud.

“Ouch, fuck!”

“…Hawke?”

Fenris couldn’t fucking believe it. He almost sank to his knees, tension leaving his body and making his legs shaky and weak.

“Ugh, sorry, did I wake you?”

She’d be the fucking death of him. So close to a heart attack.

“Could you bring some light?”

He shook his head and dragged his hand down his face, still trying to come down from KILL ALL INTRUDERS RESCUE HAWKE mode. Then he obediently went and brought a candle, crouching down next to Hawke, who was on all fours on the floor. A pained expression on her face.

“What the _ever loving fuck_ are you doing.”

“Nothing. Don’t worry.”

“There’s blood on your arse.”

Hawke cursed under her breath and then covered the blood staining the back of her knickers with her hand.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Now that he’d calmed himself down a bit, Fenris couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to your cycle turning you into a sad demon creature once a month.”

“Oh _shut uuuuup_ ,” she groaned, laying her head on the floor. “I didn’t keep track and was caught by surprise, alright? STOP STARING AT MY BUTT.”

“Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll bring you some fresh clothes and then I’ll rub your stomach for you.”

She glanced at him with the most grateful expression for a moment before distorting her face in pain again.

“The bathroom is so far away.”

Fenris chuckled and then managed to lift her up in his arms with some maneuvering. Hawke put her arms around his neck and grinned.

“Watch out for the butt blood.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“Your _face_ is disgusting.”

He simply raised an eyebrow at her, which was all she needed.

“I’m sorry, your face is gorgeous and I love it very much and you’re the most wonderful lover I’ve ever had, thank you for taking care of your demon lady.”

“Next time… just wake me up.” He looked down at her as he walked towards the bathroom and pressed her closer to his body.

“I promise to always wake you in case of butt blood and/or when I’m in need of belly rubs.”

“That’s all I ask.”


	33. Pyrophobia

What do you do when you cannot go back but the place you left still haunts you? When you try to make a home but the fire in the hearth become the inferno that took everything?   
And winter inches closer, its chilled claws reaching for her.

So you cover her eyes in the night and you quench the flame before she wakes.

She says she wants to burrow herself in the earth to rest _. And forget._

“I’ll be here when you sprout flowers in the spring.”

She trusts you to tend to her while she heals and you secretly marvel how, despite everything, she still believes in you. Her faith in you never wavered, ever unchanging. The only thing that has changed is that you trust in yourself now, too.

Seasons come and go, winter stays. But if there’s anything in the world you possess, it is time.

And then one day you wake… and the room is _warm._

She sits in front of the fire and smiles when you embrace her.

You cannot return but you continue onwards, side by side.


	34. Four Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piano AU

“This isn’t working.”

Fenris stilled his hands and Hawke rested her head on her hand, elbow clanking on the keys. This would be the moment where he told her how she was the worst person he’d ever played with and then cut her up into tiny little pieces and stuffed her in a tuba. All without even getting a speck of blood on his stupid outfit. Honestly, who wore dress shirt and pants outside of the actual recital?

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t keep up with your precise playstyle.” _‘Mabari rolling around on the keys’_ was how one of her teachers had called it. Fucker.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Hawke turned her head and found that Fenris was frowning at her as though she’d said something stupid.

“What _did_ you mean?”

“Have I given you the impression that I’m not happy with you as my partner?”

What the shit? Was he being a huge ass or was he being completely oblivious?

“You’ve given me the impression that you _hate my guts._ ” She scoffed and then laughed when his eyebrows somehow began looking apologetic. His frickin eyebrows. Someone should outlaw them for being sexy and annoying.

“That was not my intention. I merely opposed Orsino’s idea of how this piece should be presented.”

“So how do you think we should play it?”

“As lovers.”

* * *

Getting rid of the often limiting professional distance while playing was a good idea in theory… However, Fenris’ thigh against hers was making it very difficult for her to not have him enter her headspace while playing. No one would know, though, if she imagined him, right? And it was only because he was right next to her, and she could feel him… smell him. It meant nothing.

Hawke took a deep breath and let her surroundings fade away until she was able to fall into the piece.

The melody enveloped her gently and like the current, it pulled her towards the ocean until she was submerged in the music.

Fenris’ fingers rose from the piano and wrote a graceful arch in the air until they rested on his thigh.

_Fingertips trace her lips and she bites down, gently. The look in her eyes is not gentle at all as he smirks and moves his other hand between her legs._

His re-entry required him to slide his hand under hers, their hands touched for the briefest of moments before she moved her hand and played a different chord.  

_A shy kiss. A single word, whispered. Hawke laughs and there’s warmth in his eyes as they say their goodbyes. A beginning._

The crescendo started on his side and like a wave, it grew. She followed his lead, fortissimo, beyond…

_No air between them. His tongue on her skin. Her fire embraces his fire. Nails digging into skin. Cresting._

_Fine._ He lingered on the last note, longer than usual, while she caught her breath. All she had to do know was get up and run out before she ripped open her shirt and asked him to take her now, right there on the piano, no matter how painful for her back.

“That was… pretty amazing. Good idea, Fenris. Okay, gotta go! Bye!”

She barely made it into a standing position before his hand gently closed around her wrist. Against her better judgment she met his eyes and… Oh no. She was in trouble.

“We should…” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. “We should practise… again.”

So much trouble.


	35. A Hawke Never Forgets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompt by commanderlurker :)
> 
> "The squelch underfoot told Fenris everything he needed to know."

 

Somehow, throughout all the years he’d been travelling at Hawke’s side, he’d been able to preclude a terrible fate like this. Certainly, there had been many a close call. However, he’d always been able to evade his doom at the last moment. Until now.

“Fenris stepped in the poopy!”

Hawke never forgot. Hawke would never pass up on a prime opportunity for retributive mockery. And no matter how many times Fenris had lost his composure and dignity in front of this horrendous woman, he still attempted to keep it this time. With a stern look on his face he turned around, taking his foot out of the offending… material in the process.

“How many years has it been, Hawke. How many years have you been waiting for this?”

Instead of answering, she started hysterically shrieking like someone who was about to go up in flames after being afflicted with a terrible curse. A curse he tried to send unto her with his eyes. She continued laughing.

“I have so many regrets.”

Hawke ceased her howling. At least for now.

“What do you regret, my darling poop-stepper?” She ignored his scowling. “Coming to Ferelden with me? Travelling with the woman you _adore_ \- if I may remind you of that fact - ADORE. Do you regret cows and their unavoidable pats?”

Hawke stood on the dewy grass, hands on her hips, smiling. The lazy morning sun was slowly making it’s way through the mist still hanging over the fields, softening her features into the mischievous woman he’d first met so many years ago.

“No, never mind. I regret nothing.”

She blinked, taken aback. Then she laughed, this time without any mockery, and walked towards him until she could embrace him and kiss him. It was a kiss befitting of this morning. Slow and indulgent. They had the time for it. They had earned it.

Why would he regret anything.

“Still… I can’t believe YOU STEPPED INTO THE POOPY!”

Well.


	36. Deartuate

“I can’t believe we’re cleaning this scum up. They don’t deserve to be burned, they deserve to-”

“She’s watching you, Hawke.”

“-be buried in wonderful graves, is what I mean. Dragging the blighted bodies of fucking slavers into a pile and setting them on fire is everything I could’ve wished for on a rainy afternoon on the Wounded bloody Coast.”

Aveline didn’t acknowledge Hawke’s complaining and Fenris got to admire one of Hawke’s finest rude faces. He focused on her grimaces and excessive swearing, grateful for the distraction as he sat on a cold rock and waited for them to finish. Aveline knew better than to make him clean up dead slavers. As she noticed him watching her, Hawke winked and then sighed dramatically as she started dragging the next body. Tried to, anyway.

“Shitty bollocks!” Hawke glared at the unmoving, very large corpse on the ground. “Maker’s arse, people this tall should be outlawed.”

She pulled on his arms again, muscles straining and without thinking, Fenris strode over and suddenly the feet were in his hands.

“Fenris, no. You don’t have to help.”

“It is no trouble.”

He began walking backwards, pulling the legs along with him but Hawke shook her head and stood her ground.

“Hawke, don’t be ridiculous.” Fenris pulled harder. “I appreciate you trying to be considerate of me but I assure you that-”

_RRRIIIIIIP_

Hawke was still holding on to the arms. _Only_ the arms. A few seconds went by where they both were too dumbfounded to say anything. Then…

“Can I lend you a hand?” She was _waving_ it. And coming _closer._

“Hawke…”

“No wonder they lost, they weren’t _armed._ ”  Dead hands were flapping in front of his face.

“Just… Hawke, please…”

“Hawke, what?” She put _the hand_ behind her ear as if she wanted to hear better.

“… if you don’t stop this, I’ll give you the cold shoulder.”

Unlike everything else on this day, the gleeful surprise on her face was something he wanted to remember for a long time. A smile spread over his face and Hawke lowered all four arms, a hint of red suddenly dusting her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, when Aveline’s voice bellowed from behind.

“Oh for _fucks_ sake, Hawke.”


	37. Caprizant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caprizant: of the pulse, uneven or irregular

* * *

She’d been so conscious of not touching. Tried so hard to keep the atmosphere casual and relaxed. They were two friends sitting in front of the fireplace and sharing a bottle of wine. Friendly friends. Not friends where one of them had had a very realistic dream about the other and had woken up to the devastating choice of trying to ignore the ache between their legs or to take care of it to thoughts of their friend. The friend that wasn’t Isabela and so touching oneself to their image was wrought with problems.

A finger’s breadth of air between them. Air or lava. The space that shouldn’t feel like anything was scorching her. _Probably a logical explanation for it, Hawke. Hot air from the fire gathering between us because of… reasons. Shit, it’s probably just my lewdness manifesting itself._

Fenris seemed oblivious to any abnormal temperature shenanigans and somehow that made it worse. _Fine, just sit there and chug your wine, you handsome asshole. I’m not bothered at all!_

“Hawke.”

He was looking straight at her now, eyebrow cocked, possibly questioning why she was staring at him while biting her thumb.

“I’m not biting my thumb at you.”

“I… am reassured.” Fenris widened his eyes for a fragment of a moment, obviously _not reassured at all_ by her statement. Astonishing! “Would you like more wine?”

Laughing like she was about to get out an axe and chop someone into pieces, she grabbed the bottle from him and took a few desperate gulps. Naturally, she managed to choke and some wine ran down her chin while she coughed and gasped for air.

Gently, Fenris’ freed the wine bottle from her death grip and placed it on the floor. How she always managed to embarrass herself in front of him, she didn’t know. At least she served as amusement to him, if the slight twitch to his lips was any indication. _That’s all you are, Hawke. A sad jester, lady of misrule. Just accept your role._

Her breathing had normalized and she was about to say something absolutely hilarious to cover her embarrassment, when Fenris reached out and caught a droplet of wine on her jaw with his thumb.

The world froze as all heat in the universe rushed into the patch of skin where his thumb touched her. Her eyes were suddenly glued to his and her heartbeat was hammering in her ears as she stopped breathing; certain that something terrible were to happen if she breathed in again.

Slowly, as if in trance, she felt his touch advance towards her lip, leaving fire in its wake. His eyes never left hers and maybe the heat didn’t come from the universe after all; his gaze was fierce enough.

Before she could do something incredibly stupid, like open her mouth to suck on his thumb or rip off her shirt, he withdrew his hand. She drew in a long, shaky breath - only to exhale with force as he brought his thumb to his lips and tasted the wine.

How could she not imagine his tongue where this thumb had been. Just like that, the possibility of _more_ manifested between them and not just in her dreams.

“Should I … should I leave?”

Fenris leaned towards her, glancing at her lips and he placed his hand on the floor so that his fingers brushed against her. There was no point in trying to hide how all of this affected her. Her breathing had sped up, she was flushed and possibly sweating. Just… just a little closer… and…

“Not today.” Fenris drew back with an almost exasperated sigh, letting his hair fall into his face. “It’s… I’m sorry.”

Hawke left his mansion in a hurry, though not without making a couple more priceless quips that totally were not awkward at all.

How was she supposed to stop craving him after _that?_

_No chance, Hawke. You’re lost._


End file.
